11 Hours
by FloraOne
Summary: Non-Senshi AU. Usagi and Mamoru get stuck in an elevator, and you play mouse for this little fluff-fest. My little twist: The title dictates the frame. This fic will take place in 11 hours. In that elevator. You could say I'm trying my hand at intimate theatre, if you will. Enjoy.
1. Zero

**11 Hours**

A Fluffy Elevator AU

* * *

 _AN: I made my lovely beta and partner in_ _fic, Uglygreenjacket, really mad, cause I made her promise to keep me from writing for the rest of the year, but… yeah. Almost worked. Almost._

 _So, I said I would try my hand at the fluffiest of fluffy fluff-cliché tropes for a little while, and that's exactly what I'm doing._ _So, Mamoru and Usagi get stuck in an elevator… yes this synopsis sounds like porn and yes I'm_ definitely _not counting out sexy time, here, but this thing has plot, lol, I promise!_

 _My little twist: The title dictates the frame. This fic will take place in 11 hours. In that elevator. You could say I'm trying my hand at intimate theatre, if you will._

 _(Also, they are in their 20s, btw.)_

 _SO, I do hope you like me at fluff, too, and let me know what you think 3_

* * *

 **Zero**

* * *

The first time Usagi noticed him that day, she almost fell over her own feet.

He was easily the most beautiful person she'd ever seen in her life, and she was sweaty and huffing and puffing from her marathon sprint. Late, again. A two day, full-day class, and she'd been already late yesterday... she hated that. She'd gotten better at it over the years, but this week...

She blinked, her eyes straying back over the rows of heads, here in the imposing main part of the library of oh so fancy Keio, overlooking the grand reading room. She slowed to a walk, cursing her heels for every click on the shiny marble floors, as she tried to control her erratic breathing. She could already see the door to the seminar room, off right there to the side, and yet…

He stood at the side of the main hall, scanning a pile of books across a clunky grey machine, and ran his hand back through his hair. Usagi shook her head at herself, because her mouth opened involuntarily, and it felt like slow-motion, as his hand moved along his forehead and scalp, bushing deep black hair back from shamelessly pretty eyes, falling soft and silky like black, shiny ink.

Her breath hitched. She almost groaned out loud, when she realized she wasn't only staring, she'd stopped in the bloody hallway to stare. And that alone wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't caught her at it, glancing up and catching her eye and blinking, first, then... pursed lips turning into a smug cocky half smile. It looked practiced, and she blinked, blushing, and looked away, resuming her clinky, loud walk of embarrassment, a throwback to her school years.

She slipped into the seminar room with a ducked pose and sheepish smile, and the instructor halted in her speech and rolled her eyes, while Usagi sat in the same seat she'd sat in yesterday, at the round congress table that felt much more adult than she would probably ever be used to.

At lunch she was one of the few people from her class that had to leave the building to pop into the conbini down the street for some onigiri. Because she'd been so late she had no time to do it before class - and she'd long since given up on attempting to prepare bentos for her lunches beforehand.

Her breath hitched again, this time accompanied by a very irritating thumping of her heart, as if she were twelve and he were the coolest senpai in the school, when she passed the main reading hall, again, and she saw his head bent over a textbook, with his lip slightly tucked beneath his teeth as he concentrated.

The way he sat, endlessly long and lean legs folded over another, the dark shirt he wore hugging all the right spots, hair falling in his eyes, those _reading glasses_...

He lifted his head and caught her again, and this time she didn't wait to see his reaction but blushed bright red and looked away immediately, her cheeks burning, and ran for the stairs, instead of waiting for the elevator in direct view of him.

She ran a little too fast, and didn't slow down at all until she reached her Family Mart of choice completely out of breath, and could finally think again.

Usagi scowled, absolutely irritated by herself. She ended up buying half the store in sweets and snacks, and some other things she was positive she wouldn't need today but bought them anyway, along with the handful of onigiri she _actually_ came for, and devoured some of them back on her way to the red cobbled, beautiful main library of that posh, posh university that intimidated her so.

He probably was a student there. A ridiculously beautiful man who studied at bloody fancy _Keio_ and had the smile of a playboy.

Right. No way. No chance in hell.

She took the stairs again on her way back up, and this way avoided passing the main reading hall on her way back to her seminar room.

By the time her seminar was done and she, as well as all the other participants that felt as misplaced in this choice of fancy venue as her, were expelled into freedom, it was dark outside, and the reading hall was empty.

She told herself that the sigh that escaped her lips was relief, but she knew to recognize the good portion of denial and regret too well to ignore it.

And of course, the prospect of passing him again had occupied her mind so much she'd forgotten her bag upstairs.

Her instructor, this calmest and most patient of all people she'd ever met, was almost near tears in frustration at Usagi when she told her, and she really couldn't blame her. Usagi would have been frustrated with herself, too, in her place.

It was a two day seminar, in which Usagi had managed to be late twice, spilled her chai latte all over her instructor's blouse on the first day, and then fell over the cord of the beamer, today, ripping it from the wall so forcefully that the power gave out, and the library's technician had to come – which forced them all into an extended break and the seminar to go into significant over-time.

It should have ended by 7 pm. Now, at 9, thanks to her, they were done, and seemingly the last people exiting the imposing building.

"Right, Tsukino-san," her instructor, a middle-aged woman in a prim skirt and collar, said with a frustrated sigh in a voice. "Here's the thing," she said, smudged lip-sticked lips trembling in agitation. "I'll be honest here. I'm dead on my feet. Is there any way you can collect your bag tomorrow?"

Usagi flinched apologetically. "Um… my house keys are in it. I'm so sorry, but… my roommate is gone for the week and I…"

The poor woman sighed deeply, running her hands across her face, her mascara smearing a little.

She did look _so_ tired, and Usagi was half prepared to just go and sleep at her parents' house instead, when she spoke again, rummaging in her chic, little hand bag.

"Ok, wait," she said, handing Usagi a little chip card, who looked back at her confusedly. "The security men are already off shift, so the doors are already locked. But staff and students can still get out with this," she said, pointing at the card in Usagi's hand. A member card.

"Uh…"

"It's mine," she said, rummaging again and holding out another card; this time her business card, "my office is around the corner from here, address is on the back. Go get your bag, and bring me the card back tomorrow."

"Uh…ok" Usagi said, humiliated.

The woman nodded, took her by the elbow, and showed her how to slide it through the machine. With a click, the entrance opened, and she hurried through, waving back while repeating her instructions with a concerned frown.

This was how Usagi found herself utterly alone at Keio university library, moonlight shining through the headlights of the tall entrance doors.

It was an utterly uncomfortable feeling for her, as she hurried back to the elevators, as fast as she could. Libraries were the stuff of nightmares for her, especially at a university as prestigious and stuck-up as Keio.

Usagi _hated_ school. Always had. Every single minute of academia had been torture for her, and had she had the possibility to go back in time and tell her 14 year old self she'd go and do her Bachelors degree after all, poor, teenie Usagi would have bawled her eyes out for weeks at the prospect.

Though a school like this one, _Keio_ , was very far beyond her head, either way. She felt out of place in surroundings like this. They made her feel as inadequate and more as she'd felt those times when she'd attended her make-up exams at her tiny, remote, Tokyo School for Social Welfare.

The elevator dinged, as it arrived at the sixth floor.

Her bag was, of course, waiting for her where she'd left it. Open and non-missable on top of what was her desk for the day, and she sighed again at herself. Only she would walk out without anything to her person and not notice it was missing.

She grabbed it and rushed back out. By the time she made it back, the doors to the elevator hadn't even closed, yet, even when she'd been out a while.

Though the cause for that became apparent, when her heels made that comical screeching sound, as her heart clenched up and she froze in her rush, nearly doubling over, blonde streamers of hair flowing forward about her, surrounding her.

Someone's foot was blocking the elevator doors for her.

 _His_ foot.

She tried not to. She _tried_ , but she couldn't help it. Her gaze travelled up in the way she hated it when people did it to her. That slow checking out as her eyes lifted from his foot up his black skinny jeans and across that dark button-up that hugged him like a glove…

He smiled that irritating, smirky half-smile again, eyes entirely and _way too blue,_ and she blinked when she realized she was staring again and not doing anything as if she were mentally deranged.

She blinked and jerked into movement, and into the suddenly surprisingly small cubicle beside him.

"Uh, thanks," she mumbled, to which he shrugged at her.

Eyes at her head, she felt them burning into her, even when she didn't dare look up.

Her cheeks burned, again.

They stood like that for a little moment, saying nothing, until he leaned over and she very nearly screeched but caught herself just in time, as she realized that the console was right next to her, and she hadn't pressed a button yet.

She frowned hard, as he pressed the button to the ground floor wordlessly, embarrassed that she hadn't thought of doing that herself, and hating herself for blushing even further, when she couldn't but stare at his toned arm, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows as it barely just barely didn't brush against her while doing so.

A thought shot through her head. Every shoujo manga and fanfic and doujin trope ever. Locked together in an elevator... and shook her head. _Oh come on, Usagi,_ she berated her mind

 _You're not 14._

The elevator trembled a little, as it came to life, and the doors closed via automated magic.

The light above made the kind of electric noise you only notice when everything else was entirely still and silent. The kind of silence that could not possibly get any more uncomfortable, as Usagi pretty much held her breath, his proximity overwhelming her like nothing she had ever felt before.

As if her whole body was electrocuted, every nerve of her aware that he was standing so very close.

She would have loved to growl. She felt like she was going crazy, as if she were a cat in heat, refraining from bloody sniffing the air to see if she could make out his scent. She didn't know this feeling, had never had it before, and it was impossibly irritating, but she felt that if she didn't turn around now, and at least try to flirt with this guy who looked like someone took a peek into her teenage dreams and molded him straight from the vague image of that prince she used to dream about, she'd regret it and think about this all her life.

 _C'mon, go and collect your rejection, girl,_ she argued with her mind _. It won't hurt as much, now, as it will one day, when you'll be asking yourself what would have happened, if you'd just had the guts to talk to that hunk in the library elevator 48 years ago._

 _Just turn around and say 'Hi'. Ask him what he's studying for on a Friday night. If his girlfriend won't mind, and oh you DON'T have one?_

...Right. Um.

But who was she kidding. Guy like this, practiced flirt like that, probably has a new girl on his arm every weekend... Except it was the weekend, now, and he's hanging out at the library.

But by the time she schooled her smile to the brightest setting and turned to just say ' _Hi_ '… the cubicle shook a little, making her shriek slightly, after all, and all the lights flared up a little at first…

Before going out completely.

Her breath trembled, and they were both left in darkness so thick, she couldn't see a difference between eyes closed and eyes opened.

It was completely and utterly black.

 _Oh no._

"Fuck" she heard him cuss. Voice low and thick and sexy and like velvet, and how could she think about that even now?

And despite herself, she had to giggle. It bubbled from her, and she felt him shift in the darkness. Not that she didn't think about that exact thing right there, but... funny that that would be the first thing she heard him say, voice all low and sexy silk.

Well, good thing she couldn't be caught staring anymore.

* * *

 _AN: Well, there you go. Let me know if you think it's worth continuing!^^_


	2. First Hour

_AN: So, now that I got you guys hooked, I can explain to you what this fic is all about, lol._

 _Some of you might be familiar with this set of really old, really popular studies and its accompanying theory; that you can make any two people fall in love when you give them 4 hours with each other and a certain set of topics to talk about. (Aron, Melinat, Aron, Vallone, & Bator, 1997 - if anyone is interested to look the study up that started it all, lol). It's so popular it turns up in pop-culture from time to time, so, I'm sure some of you have stumbled upon it. _

_Anyway. The theory has always intrigued me. Plus, one of my favorite films is Before Sunrise (and its sequels) where Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke talk for the entirety of a film, all night through, fall in love through communication, conversation and deep, meaningful connection._

 _And well, this is the OTP. And I'm not giving them 4 hours to talk this out, I'm giving them 11. And while I'm not using the original questions, I'm having them cover all the valid underlying topics behind the original questions._

 _So, by the time those elevator doors will open again, this story will be finished._

 _I hope you'll approve. I, for my part, am having a blast playing around with this set-up._

 _(Also, it goes without saying that the rating of this fic is for its later chapters.)_

* * *

 **First Hour**

* * *

"So…" Usagi whispered into the darkness, after she'd gotten her giggle fit under control and the silence turned uncomfortable, here, in the pitch black. "What now?"

He moved – she felt it, didn't see it, of course, but from the sound of fabric moving she imagined he must have shrugged, and then probably realized his mistake when he cleared his throat, and started to speak in that unfairly sexy, husky voice of his.

"Seems like a power outage, not a malfunction."

Obviously it wasn't supposed to be a purr with which he said it, but the darkness did strange things to her imagination, and so she reacted even slower and denser than she usually would…

After the first weak squeak she just decided to say nothing.

"Otherwise a generator would have kicked in with emergency light?" he supplied.

Usagi swallowed, willed her voice back into existence.

"Um ... right."

"If that's really the case, someone has to switch the power back on," he said quietly, and it sounded very, very near to her.

She had to blink a few times. And after these few moments, she could at least make out a miniscule difference in the lighting, when her eyes opened back up. At least her eyes were adjusting somewhat to the darkness already.

"And how do we do that?" she said, even though she wanted to cringe the moment she'd said it. Of course, _they_ wouldn't be able to do that.

"We don't. Someone who's _not_ locked in this cubicle needs to."

"Uh, right…" she flinched. She felt like a parrot, trying to think of what to say. "Um…."

But he interrupted her torture.

"You don't happen to have phone reception, here, do you?" he asked.

That, at least, gave her something to do, and she went on the hunt for her phone in the dark, rummaging in her newly recovered, very big, very full shopper bag. It was much harder than she'd thought, without the benefit of sight and all, and she cursed and grunted, which elicited chuckles from beside her, until finally she found it.

She squinted her eyes against what suddenly seemed like a bright glare, when she pushed a button and her lock screen flared up at her.

Yep. No. No reception whatsoever.

She shook her head, now visibly, very dimly illuminated by her screen as she was, like the rest of the small cubicle.

He sighed.

"Well," he said, shrugging exaggeratedly, a little defeated, and with a huff. "Maybe if someone's missing you in a while, and calls the police, then someone comes to check. Otherwise, we're stuck until Murata-san's morning shift."

Usagi blinked. "Who?"

"The weekend security guard."

She threw him a look. "You know who the security guy is, here? On the _weekend_?"

He blinked. She couldn't see well with only her phone lighting up the place, but it looked abashed, sheepish.

"Well, I come here a lot."

Usagi snorted, loud and amused.

"What?" he asked, and his tone was quite a bit offended.

"Nothing," she giggled.

"Well," he started, changing the topic abruptly. " _Will_ someone miss you?"

"What?" was her confused reply.

"Any chance, um ...someone… comes looking for you?" he said, and again, the tone didn't match his very confident, very dashing looks.

"Eh?"

"To get us out of here?"

 _Ahh_. She wanted to smack her head. For a moment there, Usagi had almost thought he'd done the cheesy, hidden 'do you have a boyfriend' line. Nevermind the fact she'd steeled herself to do just that right before the power went out, but anyway…

"Um, er... no. My roommate's out of town."

He exhaled in a way she really couldn't place. But then again, she was busy working up the nerve to repeat the cheesy, hidden question right back at him, if he had intended to or not in the first place.

"Um..." she started stuttering, glad the dim lighting of her phone, and the angle she held it, probably didn't allow her blush to be discernible, if he didn't have eyes like a bat. "What about you? Is... someone gonna come look for _you_?"

He shook his head, his mop of hair moving in a tantalizing swish. Her eyes must have been adjusting to the dark more than she'd thought, because suddenly, she could see him much clearer, and his eyes found hers for a moment. She sucked in a breath, entirely unintentionally.

His eyes were pretty damn intense on her.

And then her phone switched itself into sleep mode, and they were once again in the dark.

It was his turn to chuckle at the darkness, and she fumbled to put it back on, but the moment was gone. He wasn't looking at her any longer, but at the console instead, pulling out his own phone and shining it against the silver surface.

"Wait, you have a phone too?" she asked, a little dumbly, and shook her head again. Who didn't have a phone? Instead she corrected herself immediately, "What about _your_ reception?!"

"I spend a lot of time here," he replied absentmindedly, running his fingers along the metal sign in front of him, following the characters of the information written there. "I know it never has reception, here. Reinforced, armored concrete walls."

Her eyebrows scrunched together slightly. "Well, why'd you make me check, then?"

He shrugged, shooting her a look briefly. "Well, what do I know? Maybe your phone reception is crazy good. Also, my battery is low."

Usagi huffed, and waited a little, until she tapped her foot. "Well?"

"Well, what?" he said in a rather monotone voice.

"Anything you can do, there?" Usagi gestured at the console.

He shook his head, and lifted himself by the shoulders, straightening up. He _was_ rather tall… Way taller than her, anyway.

"I'd hoped for an emergency button, or something like that," he said.

She nodded, and he pushed at some button, studying some instructions that seemed to be on there.

Usagi couldn't help but admire the way that silky hair fell into his eyes as he read, his eyes squinting in the dark.

"So…um... is there?" she asked, a moment later.

"Hm?" he said, reading, pressing more buttons.

"Someone waiting for you… at home?"

That blush again, but ah well. She'd live… she guessed.

He chuckled this time. "No."

The look he threw her, straightening up completely, was entirely off-putting. A slow, twinkling smirk that reached his eyes in a way that make her tingle in places she'd been trying to ignore all day, whenever her eyes had sought him out.

He turned his back to the console, still looking at her that way, and Usagi had to clear her throat.

"Well... it could be worse, you know?" she said, flushed and awkward.

"How could it be worse?"

 _Goddammit_ , would he stop smiling like that?

Usagi cleared her throat again, but it didn't help. Her voice was raspy, when she started pouring out the first thing that came to her mind … never a good idea.

"You know, we could be hanging straight from the elevator shaft, me clinging to you as you barely have any grip, and tumble into our tragic, sad death."

He snorted at her. "Right. And how did we get into that particular predicament?"

She pressed her lips together, blushing even more. "Well, _I_ don't know," she said, a bit embarrassed. Had she just expressed wanting to cling to him? "Maybe we are superheroes, falling into a trap. I was lured here under false pretenses, and you came to my rescue, and then the enemy bewitched the elevator, and we had to climb out, barely getting out, before the cubicle fell hurtling to the ground floor underneath us."

He laughed, shaking his head incredulously. "So, if you have super powers, why don't you use them to get us both out of here?"

She rolled her eyes. "Obviously, I wouldn't be that kind of superhero. I'd be more of a magical girl, duh," she said, giggling, gaining confidence. "Twirly, girly magical beams of light that make the world a better place."

She struck a pose, crossing one arm over the other pointing at him with her outstretched arm, as if she was doing a single finger gun, even when she winked at him.

"Ah," he chuckled, in a 'gotcha' kind of way, and Usagi beamed a toothy grin in his direction. She was starting to calm down in his presence. There were _definitely_ worse things than being trapped in an elevator for a night with _this guy_.

"Plus," Usagi continued, holding her bag up triumphantly. "I have food. And stuff. At least we won't starve."

He raised an eyebrow. "We'd only be stuck till the morning."

"See?" she exclaimed. "My point exactly!"

He laughed at her, shaking his head, again, in the same way he did before, but it felt nice, strangely.

They fell into silence, for a little moment, and Usagi rummaged in her bag. This time, she didn't have to search long, and pulled the little rectangular piece of hard plastic out she was looking for, holding it out for him. "Here," she said.

The look he gave her was a little confused.

"My power bank," Usagi specified, shrugging, shaking it at him a little. "You said your battery was low?"

"Oh!" he said, his eyes surprised, reaching out. "Um… Thanks."

When he took it from her, their fingers brushed briefly, and Usagi reacted as if burned.

His eyes flicked to hers, concerned, even as she blushed again, and he rolled the little piece of tech in his hand, not doing anything.

Usagi's lips smacked involuntarily, when she realized he couldn't do anything with it, yet, she hadn't given him the cord. Diving back into her bag, she fished it out rather quickly, and with a blush grabbed the power bank from his grasp. Their hands brushed again, and her skin tingled where his had touched it, but she ignored it, as she connected it and handed it back.

He gave her a look. The kind he'd been giving her for the past few minutes, and it frustrated her that she really couldn't read it at all. It lingered a little, until he cleared his throat and connected the cord to his phone. It flared up with the rather bright loading screen, and they both seemed to realize at the same time that it seemed to suffice in lighting up the space enough to see _somewhat_ clearly – at least their eyes met over it, and Usagi pocketed her own phone again, after he'd set their temporary light source on the floor.

...And her eyes DEFINITELY had adjusted to the lack of light, because she saw his bum in _very_ clear detail, when he bent over in those _very_ skinny jeans to do so.

She swallowed.

"So," he started, as he came back up, and she flicked her eyes back up to his face in a panic, afraid she'd been caught checking out his rear end, but he _seemed_ to not have noticed.

"What brought you to Keio today, Odango Atama?"

She rolled her eyes at the nickname. "Creative," she remarked, in the most sarcastic tone she was capable of. Which, to be honest, didn't usually sound very sarcastic, but she tried.

His laugh was dry, his eyes were playful. "What, why?" he chuckled.

Usagi huffed, long and exaggerated. "Seriously," she said, "how does every single person see my hair and call me 'Odango'?"

His face sobered up immediately.

"What, other people call you that, too?" he asked, and his tone was almost offended, she thought, rather curiously.

And yeah, they did. Haruka, Seiya, only to name two of her friends… Not that they were the only ones. So she nodded, with a shrug.

He frowned.

"But I do have a name, you know?" she said, smiling. "Tsuk—"

"Tsukino Usagi," he interrupted her.

Usagi blinked, utterly surprised and taken aback. What?— How?—

He threw her a look that seemed almost panicked, and ran a hand through his hair, agitated.

"I just— I've seen you around, sometimes," he said, his voice suddenly very unsure.

What? But… Usagi looked at him more closely. Did she know him? Surely she would have remembered _him,_ if she had met him before… wouldn't she? Or… He wasn't some creepy stalker, was he?

She lowered her eyes. "Um… have we met?"

He pressed his lips together, looked at the elevator wall, and not at her. "Not exactly."

She frowned.

"I'm pretty sure I'd have noticed you around," she blurted. How would she not? She'd practically stared at him all day. Her eyes had flown to him like magnetism every time he was anywhere near her field of vision.

His chuckle was dry, not very humorous. "Oh believe me, you didn't."

But he took her out of her misery, and supplied, quickly, afterwards, "I'm a friend of Motoki's."

Her eyes widened. He did know her! But how could she have never—

"I used to do papers and homework at the Crown a lot. You used to hang around the Crown with your friends? I usually sat at the counter, but we never interacted. Still," he said, shrugging apologetically, "you make a …distinct impression."

She blinked. But that was… she hadn't hung around the Crown for _years_. Not since she graduated from High School.

She quickly filed through her head. Every time she remembered at the Crown. Every party at Motoki's, those from longer back, and those only recently. And now that he said it… there had always been someone sitting there. Very off-putting green jacket, sometimes chatting with Motoki, always quiet. She'd never taken a second look. Could he—

And last year, Motoki's birthday party. A dim memory. Someone making fun of Motoki's terrible singing voice behind her, eerily handsome, when she'd been so drunk that everything had been so very fuzzy and amusing. That smile, when she'd turned around, but before she could talk to him, before she could even fully register it, Ami had—

Whining at Motoki that one time Unazuki invited her over for dinner at her place, when she'd complained about the male population of Tokyo, and he'd almost begged to fix her up with someone, and she'd declined politely.

 _I mean, you're complete opposites, I think, but… I think you'd like this friend of mine. He'd balance you out. He's seen you before, and last month at my party, he—_

Motoki's voice rang in her ears. He'd talked at length, quite annoyingly even, about all the ways that guy was so responsible and conscientious. How he'd love to introduce her to—

"You're Chiba Mamoru," she said, almost absentmindedly, almost to herself.

This time it was him who looked surprised, but then he smiled.

"Yes," he said, shrugging. And then he stuck out his hand, his voice quiet, but still so very, very deep and intense.

"It's very nice to finally meet you, Tsukino Usagi."

Her stomach plummeted a little, when she took his hand in hers. Soft, warm skin, almost burning into her.

"Hi," she said, a little out of breath, a little flushed.

That smile returned. More a half smile, reaching his eyes in that little mischievous way.

"Hi," he replied, her hand still in his - too long, now - and it went straight to her knees.

It would be a very long night, yet.

* * *

 _So, as always, thanks need to go to my lovely beta,Uglygreenjacket, who puts up with the fact that I seem to have totally forgotten how to set commas since Yugen, and that I send her things to look over, like, the minute before Christmas. You're the best, love._

 _And,_

 _Merry Christmas to you guys!_

 _You make me the best Christmas present ever, if you leave me a review, and let me know what you think ;)_


	3. Second Hour

_AN: Lol guys, I am SO delighted that you like this silly idea of a fic of mine, and I hope you continue to like what's to come. As you've gathered so far, this fic is gonna be VERY MUCH dialogue-based, and thus a little different, so… I hope you like ;) I'm not gonna do every single hour, we'll skip over some (you'll see), so all in all, I think we're looking at 8 chapters, here. Hope you're gonna stay along for the ride!_

 _As always, I'm incredibly grateful for my beta, UglyGreenJacket, whose unlimited enthusiasm for my writing is probably the reason this fic exists in the first place._

 _Also, a few words on the medical program at Keio University's School of Medicine: Keio's "basic" medical program has a duration of 6 years, including clinical experience, ending in the degree of MD. After that, you do your residency at one of Keio's 34 teaching hospitals. You can, however, additionally enter a doctorate program to earn your PhD. Accompanying to your residency, you work on your research project for a duration of 4 years while already working in your field. It's pretty similar to the German model, so it didn't seem weird to me, but it's been pointed out to me that it can be a little weird from an American viewpoint. Thus, there you go._

 _Also, more notes on Usagi's school, as well as orphanages, in the end notes!_

* * *

 **Second Hour**

* * *

Right. A medical student. Could this guy be _any more_ out of her league?

Usagi nibbled on her meiji almond chocolate. Mamoru had helped himself to one single Onigiri, that he'd been eating on for what must have been 72 hours, or so it seemed.

She knew this, of course – the medical bit – because Motoki had mentioned it, and also, because he'd driven the point home by scolding her and giving her a lecture on proper nutrition, when she had emptied the edible contents of her bag onto the linoleum floor of their temporary prison one by one.

Well, yeah, she knew she'd bought a lot. But her mind had been occupied with images of him, and thus she'd turned to comfort food.

Plus, now she was very glad she had all this.

Almond Crush and Blueberry Pocky boxes, Tomato Pretz, Macha Oreo Crispies, meiji chocolate, a couple anime edition crunkies, strawberry Hi-Chew, Sakura Pepsi, Grape Chocobi, Blueberry cheesecake KitKats, one very coveted Paripipo Avocado Cheese Potato Snack pack, Ramune, a few Qoo packs and, obviously, whole packs of dagashi. And a few leftover Onigiri, you know, those that she'd _actually_ gone out for.

"So, have you decided on a specialty field, yet?" Usagi asked, buried behind food, her voice a little self-conscious.

"Um, I'm already doing my residency. So yes, I have," he said with a shrug.

She frowned, had she gotten it wrong? Wasn't he a student, anymore?

"I'm in Keio's doctorate program. I'm researching to earn my PhD," he clarified.

 _Right_. Her eyes widened. _Even_ more _out of my league_.

She nodded. And might have let out a tiny squeak. Yet, she still asked, "So, what's your research about?"

He shifted a little in his spot on the floor, his posture became a bit more rigid, as if she'd asked something highly personal, when really he must probably be publishing it internationally or something.

He cleared his throat. His voice sounded a bit raspy, when he answered.

"Um, my research topic is protective factors and beneficial treatment of long term memory loss in children caused by severe traumatic brain injury."

Usagi blinked. Right. Not even going there.

"So, you're a neurologist?" she asked instead.

He shook his head. "Pediatrician," he corrected, then shrugged. "But I've branched off into neurology enough to pull it off."

Usagi's heart gave off a rather irritating, disappointed throb. Sexiest man she'd ever seen, a postgrad student at bloody _Keio_ … and he's a doctor treating kids? Man. The league was somewhere beyond the horizon.

"What was your seminar about?" he interrupted her thoughts.

It was her turn to squirm. Of course she wasn't embarrassed of what she did. Not at all. Not in the _least_. She loved her job, she knew how important it was, and she was good at it, but she knew what her society thought of her branch of work. They rather wanted to forget it existed.

"It was an advanced training course in dealing with aggression and violence in delinquent children," she said, rather matter of factly, and realized this time it was her giving very little away.

Her school had been a small institution in Ikebukuro and Oji, far from the prestige of legendary schools like Keio. She'd wanted to help kids, and in order to do that she needed to pass classes in communication, care work, educational studies… among else, thinking with a shudder about her welfare, economy and market principles class, which she'd flunked two times.

And, somehow, she had managed. Barely passing her classes, but she had; studying social work at Tokyo's University of Social Welfare – even within the minimum two and a half years, though only due to the reason that she had continuously kept her mantra that if she pulled through _now,_ she would _never_ have to see the inside of a school _again_ … something that had basically kept her alive.

It had paid off, of course, she was good at her job. Brilliant, actually. She loved working with the kids, getting some of them out of these horrible living conditions, and some of them off the street. Sadly, though, her dream of being away from academia forever had massively backfired. Turns out, as a social worker, you needed to take regular skill enhancement trainings – which put her right back in classes.

And this is exactly how Usagi found herself, half a year into the job, at an all-day seminar for a new intervention program for delinquent kids, held in the conference rooms at Keio university library.

"Ah," he said, frowning a little, and Usagi sighed and decided to not beat around the bush.

"I started working at Living Dreams this year," she said. He blinked at her, eyes startlingly intense, and she hurried to explain. "It's a Tokyo-based, nonprofit—"

"— organization that supports children in orphanages," he finished for her, voice a little low, eyes a little wide, and then cleared his throat uncomfortably.

Usagi shrunk back a little. "Did Motoki…"

He shook his head quickly, apologetic. "No, I just…" he shrugged, a little awkwardly. "I know them."

Ah. Right.

His next question was so intense it startled her.

"Why?" he asked – a little quick, a little pressing, a little too loud.

Usagi threw him a confused look. Was he one of those people who wanted to deny there was a problem with Japan's children's welfare?

"Why I work there?" she asked.

He nodded, a little breathlessly.

Usagi frowned, but obliged. "Um, well… as you'd know, children's homes here are very diverse. And totally overrun, with the government still only putting 10% of all kids in foster care. Many of our kids are victim to abuse and neglect, but the system that we have doesn't suffice in … filling that place. You should see some of those orphanages…" she trailed off, looked at the ceiling, and sighed. Trying not to get too emotional. "It's really…" she cleared her throat. "They are still being neglected. And I just… I wanna help. It's a very long way to fix the system, but, in the meantime… I want to give them someone who cares about them. Me," she shrugged.

She looked over at Mamoru. He was staring at her rather peculiarly.

It made her feel a little self-conscious. She gave a nervous laugh. "I mean, we can't all be pediatricians, right?"

This made him snap back into reality, or so it seemed.

"Well," he said, swallowing thickly. "It's not as if your line of work is any less important."

She smiled at that. A little relieved, though she didn't know where that was coming from. Why did she want his approval?

Still, she shrugged. "Requires plenty less brains though, which I'm frankly thankful for."

He snorted. "C'mon, you got through the Japanese school system," he said, in that 'give yourself some credit' tone, that Shingo sometimes used on her since he grew up and grew a conscience.

She grinned, and shrugged again. "Well, I'm not the smartest cookie in the oven. My grades were always horrendous. Barely passing. But, you know, I'm totally fine with that."

"Well," Mamoru said, "grades and being book smart isn't everything."

Usagi threw him a look. "... Says the med student who spends his Friday night studying at the library till closing hours, when it's not even exam period?"

He chuckled, and shook his head in a 'touché' kind of way. "Have you ever heard of the entrance exams of Oxford University in the UK?"

She gave him a rather bewildered look. "... Uh, no?"

"Well, they don't ask you typical _questions_ questions ... well they do, but… they actually don't want you to know the answer."

"Eh?" Her nose fell into wrinkles, and he smiled at her, and then gave a little shrug.

"They'll ask you a question, but what they want is to see you form a hypothesis, and then afterwards they want you to formulate a way how to go about testing it."

Huh. Usagi frowned, and he leaned forward a little, the movement jostling his legs, stretched out in front of him, against hers. She noticed it almost with all of her body, and had to blink a little before she could follow his voice again.

He, as far as she could tell, wasn't phased at all by the sudden contact, instead, he inclined his face toward her even more.

"One example I read they asked was, 'Why do lions have manes?'"

Usagi gave him a blank look, shrugging. "And why do they?"

He shook his head dismissively. "That's not the point."

But Usagi broke into a slow, amused smile. "Oh, c'mon. I bet you googled it."

He pursed his lips, but couldn't contain the slow upward tuck of the side of his mouth. "Of course I did. But that's beside the point. Why do lions have manes?"

She threw him another look, but decided to play along, and straightening up as well, leaning forward, she pressed her lips into a prolonged 'Hmmmm,' as she thought about it.

"Well…" she started, but then broke off, again. Frowning.

But he simply leant back, and gave her time to mull it over with a smile.

"Well," she started, her voice entirely unsure. "Only the boys have manes. The lion boys. The girls don't."

He nodded. "That's true." Then he shrugged, still with that same smile. "What could that tell us?"

"Maybe it's like with the peacocks," Usagi said, frowning.

"Yeah?"

"The boys have the crazy feathers," she said, gaining confidence. "To woo. Maybe it's the same for lions."

"Mhm," he nodded, once again. "And how'd you go about testing that?"

Usagi sat up a little straighter, with a proud sort of frown. "Wait, was that right?"

He rolled his eyes, but couldn't contain the grin. "Beside the point," he said. "How'd you test your hypothesis?"

Usagi leaned back against the metal wall behind her with a slump. "Hmmm...," she made, furrowing her brows, and only continued after a moment. "Well, I could look if there are lions with less mane, and see if they have trouble finding mates?"

Mamoru smiled, the kind, slow type that made his eyes shine that went right through her, but this time made her blink.

"What? Was that wrong?"

He shook his head, chuckling. "No."

Usagi frowned. "Why are you laughing, then?"

"I'm not laughing," he said, eyes still twinkling in amusement. "I'm smiling."

Her lips fell into a pout, which made his lips lift up even more. "Well," she said, a little petulant, "did I get into Oxford, then?"

Still that same, aggravating smile, and otherwise nothing.

She sighed, as they fell once more into silence, and she shifted a little. Her pencil skirt cut into her thighs a little, the way she sat, and with a tuck she hiked it a little up her legs. Looking up, she found Mamoru's eyes at the hem of her skirt, and they flew up startled, a little wide, to hers, his hand immediately at the back of his neck with a blush. Caught in the act.

It was her turn to smirk.

She cocked her head a little. "So, wanna play a game with me?" she asked sweetly. "You know, we're gonna spend some time, here. Might as well get to know each other."

He smiled, stretching out his legs, and leaning his head back against the metal frame behind him. "What do you suggest?"

His legs once again brushed against hers, but this time she had braced herself for it and managed to not let it show.

"Never have I ever," she said, instead.

His brows furrowed. For a moment she thought he'd actually never heard of it, before he answered.

"That's a drinking game. We don't have anything to drink."

Usagi shrugged. "So what?"

"And it's childish."

She shrugged again, in a 'So am I' kind of way, and held up one of the boxes from her stash.

"We can do it with pocky?" she said, rattling the box a little with what she hoped was a persuasive, seductive smile but probably looked like she tried too hard.

He rolled his eyes and snorted, and her idea seemed to be immediately dismissed.

Usagi fell into a pout.

"It was a very humane answer, by the way," Mamoru said after a beat of silence.

Her head bopped up a little higher in surprise. "What was?"

"Your lions," he said, shrugging. "It said a lot about you."

She blinked. She hadn't counted on an explanation. "Oh?"

He fidgeted a little when sitting up and bending forward a little, toward her.

"Well, for one, you probably wouldn't have found out why lions have manes," he said with a shrug.

"What?" Usagi exclaimed, disappointed. "Why not?"

His eyes shone when he threw her a quick grin, before he once again lifted his shoulder in that nonchalant way and let it fall rather slowly. "Your study design was correlative," he said, as if it were obvious. "You picked already existing lions with less hair and compared them to the ones with a lot. You can't evaluate causation from that. Even if they did find mates—"

"So it _is_ about the mates!" she interrupted him, eyes lowered.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I didn't say that. But if it were, you can't test it that way, really. They might have less hair because they don't have mates, maybe the lionesses groom them, or maybe something else causes the lack of mane _and_ lack of mate."

Oh. Usagi's face fell.

Mamoru hurried to continue.

"But..." he said, leaning forward hastily, cocking his head a little and looking her in the eye. "It says a lot that you didn't think of the alternative."

Usagi blinked, threw him a confused look, and he supplied, again with that shrug.

"Take a random bunch of lions, before mating, select half of those at random and shave their manes off in order to compare them to the remaining lion group with manes intact, and then see if they still find mates …" he said offhandedly.

Usagi's look must have been appalled, because Mamoru shrunk back a little even before she started exclaiming.

"WHAT?" she bellowed. "Those poor lions!"

Mamoru chuckled, low and deep. "Exactly. Yours was very humane, if slightly more ineffective. And also..."

"Yeah?"

"Your mating theory," he said, and his smile got warmer and his cheeks a tiny hue redder. "You think mane and lions, and think of mating. Family. Connection. A different approach might be to see it as a power advantage, or a way to give them benefits in battles. A competitive, aggressive way of seeing it that you didn't think of, either."

Usagi's answering frown was deep and thoughtful, and she took a moment before she replied, and with a tone someone would use to explain a particularly giant fault in someone else's argument.

"Ok," she started, eyes serious, "as someone with long-ass hair, I can tell you this for certain; long hair is not an advantage _ever_. Powerwise or anything."

His voice rumbled as he laughed, and shrugged again in that very adorable, boyish way. His cheeks turned even redder when he winked. "Maybe in mating and wooing, then?"

Usagi swallowed, and blushed as well. She kicked his leg a little, and his laugh vibrated across the small, metal cubicle.

But his eyes didn't leave her, and they kept shining in that very distracting way.

She pursed her lips. Tried to fight the color in her face, when she asked, "So, how about that game?"

* * *

 _AN: Usagi's school also exists in real life, and so does her program. If you wanna read (or look) up the very depressing situation of orphans and orphanages in Japan that I allude to, and which makes Mamoru's story so much more tragic: the term "Japan's Throwaway Children" has been coined for quite a while by Japanese society, and UNICEF Asia Pacific as well as Al Jazeera have made documentaries about it that are freely available._

 _I think it's very worth to keep in mind, when painting Mamoru's picture in fic, how extraordinarily hard he has it in life. Growing up in a society that values family ties so very strongly, where family and familiar bonds are what nurture and carry you through life so exclusively, where it's often frowned upon to really open up to anyone from "outside" – to grow up in this environment without having anyone at all?. Emotionally or to support you… That's friggin' heartbreaking._

 _Anyway, please let me know what you think?_


	4. Third Hour

_AN: So, just for the off-chance that Never Have I Ever is not known in_ every _corner of the world: It's a simple enough drinking game. You phrase a sentence with "Never have I ever" and end it with anything you've either done or haven't done. Usually the point is that you haven't done it, and the other has. If you've done it, you drink – or eat a pocky, in this case._

* * *

 **Third Hour**

* * *

Mamoru shook his head exasperatedly, and gave a huff, before continuing at her prompt.

"Never have I ever skipped school," he said, rather bored, and held out a pocky from the box, but didn't eat it.

Usagi rolled her eyes, and grabbed his pocky, instead of getting her own, and devoured it in one go. Seriously. Was this guy like, the biggest goody-two-shoes in the world?

They'd been at this game for quite a while now, and so far she'd learned that this guy basically has never done anything.

It was quite surprising, really. She wouldn't have guessed from his looks.

"Never have I ever injured myself trying to impress someone I was interested in," she said, instead, and grabbed a pocky without looking, then ate it.

He snorted, but didn't eat.

"You're playing this wrong, you know?" He chuckled. "You're supposed to say things you _haven't_ done."

She shrugged. There weren't so many things she could think of that she hadn't done. Plus, she liked Pocky.

"Never have I ever eaten a whole pizza," he said, still that bored tone, and Usagi, biting off her Pocky, rolled her eyes.

"C'mon," she said, chewing, "gimme something less lame."

He huffed, rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and then squinted a bit, before his eyes returned to hers, with a smug smile this time.

"Never have I ever been in an embarrassing video that was uploaded to YouTube."

Usagi's eyes widened, and this time, his did too, when she grabbed his uneaten pocky from him, and ate it.

"Which video!" he demanded, scandalized.

A lot. Sadly. Courtesy of being the roommate of someone who vlogged every aspect of her own life, Usagi could be seen on the Internet when she tried on the coat of another customer in Minako's favorite department store in Shibuya, when she apologized to a lamp post when she ran into it and thought it was a person, when she sniffed Luna's mewling butt to see if it was her cat who smelled or she, when she got roaring drunk off what she thought was juice, when she asked a designer to make her a wedding dress for free, ate anything that ever fell on the floor, slept through an earthquake, tried to play the violin in the middle of the street, plus, her very regular morning hurricanes, when she overslept that were caught on camera in very meticulous detail ever since she moved in with Minako Aino.

There were memes of her and all.

"Um…" she blushed. "It's not a big deal."

His dancing eyes lingered on her a little, but thankfully, he let it go.

Usagi cleared her throat. "Never have I ever had a paranormal experience," she said, and bit off her pocky.

I mean, nothing big, and all just in her head, probably, but, once she'd imagined her cat could talk, and thought she was really watching over her, and sometimes she felt her dreams could predict the future, but that counted, right?

But to her surprise, this time he bit off a pocky as well.

Usagi blinked. Of course, she didn't cut him the same slack about not explaining.

Which he'd gotten by now, they were playing this game for rather a while now, so he just spoke. "Sometimes it feels like I know what other people are feeling," he said, with an awkward shrug, "and I had some very strange dreams, as a kid." He crossed his arms, it looked a bit guarded. "You?"

She blinked. "Um, dreams, as well. And my cat is weird."

"You have a cat?" he smiled.

She nodded. "Two, technically. My roommate has one, too. They're quite strange, really. Behave like awkward, little humans."

He chuckled, and it looked real. It made her smile.

"Well," he said, and lifted a pocky, "Never have I ever volunteered at a cat shelter." And ate.

She giggled, eyes widening, charmed. "Really?" she exclaimed, excited.

He shrugged, a bit bashful. "For a little while," he admitted. "In my first years of university. I like cats."

"Ok," she said, wiggling a little in her spot on the floor, "Let's see. Never ever have I shoplifted."

This time she didn't eat, and it was her turn for that scandalized look, when he pursed his lips, and did eat a pocky.

"WHAT?" she exclaimed, and he flinched. "What did you steal?"

"…jewelry," he mumbled ominously. "But I had a reason, and I brought it back afterwards…"

She blinked. "Why?"

He shrugged, and Usagi snapped her mouth shut, because he looked like he was closing up, and she regretted the question immediately.

He sighed. Shook his head, as if shaking something off, and willed on a smile. It seemed forced. "Never have I ever failed a class."

She rolled her eyes. He knew this already, but she ate a pocky, anyway. Obviously.

She looked at him for a while. Pondered his mood, if she could ask what she wanted to ask. Then changed her mind to something … slightly safer.

"Never have I ever fallen in love at first sight," she said. His eyes widened. Her heart skipped a beat at his look, and she grabbed a pocky, unsure whether to eat or not, really, when he shook his head, sharply…

…and grabbed her hand with the pocky, before she could do anything with it.

"Look," he said, swallowing. "Maybe we can just… talk? Without the game?"

She looked at him, her eyes widening. There was so much she still had up her sleeve. "But…! Never have I ever re-gifted something that was gifted to me! Never have I ever rehearsed what to say on the phone! Never have I ever masturbated to porn!"

He chuckled, as she went on.

She continued. "Never have I ever danced a whole night through! Never ever have I told my mom that—"

His look darkened, and she broke off immediately.

They looked at each other, and for the first time in hours, the silence was uncomfortable again.

She sighed. "Fine," she huffed after a beat. "What do you wanna talk about?"

He shrugged, started frowning, as if he were searching for a topic.

So she inclined her head, and took pity on him. Conversation seemed more her forte than his, anyway.

"How do you know Motoki?" she asked, and he exhaled, as if in relief, relaxing.

Obviously a safe topic for him.

"We were in the same class. I tutored him in English and he stuck around, somehow. Wouldn't leave no matter how grumpy I was, just ignored my silent treatment," Mamoru said with a smile.

Usagi giggled. She could absolutely picture that.

"We used to flock to the Crown just because of him for years," Usagi said, giggling. "I had the biggest crush on him in middle school."

Usagi blinked again, when the smile once again slipped from his face, but then he exhaled, and the darker look was gone, as if she'd imagined it.

"Of course, you would," he said.

She threw him a curious look. "Why is that?"

He shrugged. "It fits. He's a bubbly, happy, sunshine person. Like you are."

She smiled, cocking an eyebrow. "And how exactly do you assume to know that, then?" she laughed.

She started a little when she saw the shadow of a blush, but then he rolled his eyes, grabbed the special edition box of pocky and waved it in an awkward angle.

She rolled her eyes, as well, but smiled. "Because I have pocky? Oh c'mon."

"Besides," he said. "Everybody always goes for Motoki."

Usagi gave an amused snort. Took him in, how he sat there, all sexy eyes and dark beauty. _Right_. As if they didn't all go for _him_. Motoki didn't stand a chance.

He shrugged at her, oblivious."I mean, I get it. He's the warmest person to be around. He's gentle and kind."

Usagi smiled. "You seem to really like him."

Mamoru gave a curt, sheepish nod. "He's my best friend."

Usagi's smile widened, and he blinked.

"What?"

She shrugged. "Makes you all the more likable? Motoki is a great guy. If you're his friend, you can't be all _that_ bad..." she said, with a flirty slur that surprised even herself, and he chuckled.

They fell into silence, again. Comfortable, once more, and she stretched her feet out a little.

"So," she said, smiling. "Would you say you're the kind of person who values friendship over family, or family over friendship."

His smile fell immediately. He cleared his throat.

"Never thought about it," he said, curtly.

Usagi blinked. Taken aback.

"Well," she said, a little unsure. "What are your parents like? Are you close to them?"

He shook his head. "Ask anything else."

His face was dark, his eyes focused on the wall beside her.

Her face smoothed over. She crossed a line. She felt it.

"Well, what else do you want to know?" Mamoru asked, and crossed his arms over his knees.

Usagi frowned. It couldn't have been a more closed off gesture.

She inclined her head, and her voice dropped a few decibels. Less excited, more empathic. The kind she used on her kids, sometimes, she realized with a start. When she didn't want to scare them away with too much enthusiasm. Like a skittish, neglected kitten.

"I don't know. Anything?" she said with a smile. "What kind of music do you like?"

This seemed a safe enough topic for him. At least the white-knuckled grip he had had on his knees loosened, and he reached for his phone, beside them as their temporary lamp.

A few swipes and taps on it and he put it back down to the haunting first few strokes of a bow across cello strings, accompanied by the softest melody she had ever heard played by a piano.

Usagi's heart clenched immediately. She had never heard something so sad. Or so beautiful.

"What is this?" Usagi whispered.

"Rachmaninoff. The last of his 14 romances?" Mamoru said. His hands had returned their grip on his knees.

She couldn't say anything. Instead her eyes flew to his, as they simply listened for a few moments.

He cleared his throat, looked away from Usagi's eyes. "I like classical music. The romantic period especially."

She nodded mutely. The music reached a crescendo. It felt as if she were listening to grief. To loss.

"Are they all so sad?" she whispered, after a while.

He blinked, as if he'd never seen it from this angle. As if he wanted to deny there was anything sad about it, and then thought about it, and couldn't.

He cleared his throat again. "I do have happy songs…"

He bent over again. More swipes on his phone, and cello and piano were exchanged by a different cello and piano.

The melody was more uplifting, and yet still so, so haunting. Yearning, in a way. Longing. Her eyes found his, again. They were warm.

"Salut d'amour," Mamoru shrugged, with a slow smile. "Elgar. He wrote it for his fiancée. It was the first work he ever published. There are people describing it as insignificant, salon music… but, to me, it's one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever written."

Usagi smiled, and cocked her head curiously.

He blushed. It looked adorable.

"What?" he asked, a bit startled.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for the type to listen to this kind music."

His smile was questioning. "Why not?"

She shrugged. "I think I misjudged you, overall."

He blinked. "What is that supposed to mean?" His tone was a bit offended.

It was her turn to blush slightly. "I mean, c'mon... those smirks? The smiles you threw me when you caught me staring, before? They were practiced. It was so apparent you're a player, but now..."

He frowned. "A 'player'?" he repeated, as if testing out the word, totally clueless.

Usagi blinked, surprised. Blushed even further. "Um, you know... people who make a sport of going on dates? Who have a lot of one night stands for the fun of it? I mean – not that there's anything _wrong_ with that, just—"

Mamoru frowned all the way through her explanation, and she broke off startled, when his hand shot out toward her, and he grabbed a pocky from her stash.

He held it up indignantly, not biting off of it. "Never have I ever had a one night stand," he said.

Her cheeks were flaming hot when she met his offended gaze to the soft tunes of a wistful cello. Yeah, she _had_ misjudged him…

She reached out, broke off half of the pocky he held out, and bit off it.

Mamoru snorted. "Half a pocky?"

She must have been glowing in the dark, from the heat she felt radiating off of her face. "Um," she started, mumbling, "I did have _sort of_ a one night stand once, at least it was planned as one," she looked up at him, "but then I briefly got together with the guy afterward."

His face was giving away nothing.

"That doesn't count, then" he said.

Usagi swallowed. Took him in, the way he sat there. Those impossibly long legs clad in those delicious black jeans, bent at the knee with his foot right next to hers…

She couldn't possibly be blushing even more, and yet she did.

"Um, would you… ever want one?" she murmured.

Her eyes widened the moment the words had left her mouth.

He blinked at her, not understanding.

"A one night stand," Usagi clarified, bright red.

This time his eyes widened, and he spluttered, his knees snapping shut. "Um…"

Usagi felt her heartbeat pick up, when his eyes stared at her, blinking.

He pursed his lips. "Um... actually... no…"

 _Oh_.

Usagi's face fell.

"What about you?" he asked.

Her heart rate picked right back up, but she didn't want to misunderstand. "What about me?" she asked, instead.

And maybe she imagined it, but it looked like he was blushing, as well.

"Would you want one?" he asked. It sounded a bit lower to her ears.

 _With you I definitely would…_

Her blush was stuck in place, and she stuttered. "I ... yeah. I always…uh…" she swallowed, "… wanted to know what it feels like? But... I fall in love too quickly. So I guess maybe it's not a good idea in the first place? At least my roommate Minako always says I'm not the type for it, anyway…" she trailed off.

He nodded, but stayed silent, and completely unreadable.

It unnerved her.

She blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.

"Why don't you want one?"

Again, his face reacted first. A deep, slow frown. He took his time answering.

"I think it's nicer when you have feelings, I suppose. I don't fall in love easily. I know what it feels like to have sex with someone you don't love... and… I mean… If I don't manage in a relationship, then how would it...?" he trailed off, the creases in his forehead and between his brows deepening as he did, and he exhaled audibly through his nose, lost in thought.

She frowned, acutely aware, once again, of the music that came from his phone. This haunting, gentle romantic melody. Salut d'amour, he'd said. Hello to love, or something like that, her French was nonexistent apart from perfume bottle lingo. And the song before that… so devastatingly much longing and loneliness in it. Haunting, sad, lonely songs about love... and he doesn't fall in love? Usagi had never heard anything sadder.

"So, you've never fallen in love?" she whispered, almost to herself.

He gave her a look that was at the same time utterly intense and unreadable.

He swallowed. His voice was thick, when he answered. "I didn't say that."

* * *

 _So, the songs I used for this chapter were quite self-explanatory, but here they are!_

 _Vocalise, Op 34, No. 14 (Arr. For Cello) – Sergei Rachmaninoff_

 _Salut d'amour, Op. 12 – Edward Elgar_

 _I've put links on my tumblr (floraone), if you wanna have a listen ;)_

 _Anyway, my hugest thanks go of course to my beta UglyGreenJacket, and her hilarious Never Have I Ever skills ;)_

 _In Germany we wish people a "good slide" into the New Year. So, all of you, please slide safely!^^_


	5. Fifth Hour

_AN: So, don't be confused. You didn't miss an hour. This is the first skip. I know some of you guys are gonna be sad about the skips, but as has been very fittingly pointed out to me, I simply cannot account for every single thing that happens in this elevator. And I agree. It would turn bland quite quickly, and as always, a little mystery and needed imagination, in my opinion, is the most intriguing thing about this set-up. And maybe I'll give you some more snippets of what happened in between as a drabble or two, who knows ;)_

 _Thanks, ever and always, to UglyGreenJacket. For helping me, cheering me on, and mostly for all the time you spare for me 3_

* * *

 **Fifth Hour**

* * *

Mamoru's phone blinked the time at her, and she caught it out of the corner of her eye. 2am.

Usually, it was one of her strictest rules to not stay up longer than 2am. She could count the times she had broken this rule in her life on one hand – for a forgotten, due, term paper, for instance, or that time they'd kept Makoto from jumping into bed, or the nearest closet, at that party with _that_ (drunk and too touchy) sempai of hers she'd been pining after for all her life, and who was clearly a douche –and she'd never broken it without protest or a serious case of _Whining_.

She was the kind of person, whatever the party Minako threw in their apartment, she'd simply get into her PJs at 2 am at the latest, and fall asleep with the party still going on around her in full blast, sometimes with her still in the middle of the living room, sleeping in pink bunny flannel, no matter the circumstance. Sleep was holy. Sleep was her thing. She valued her sleep.

And yes, her eyes felt hot and burning, and her instincts were screaming at her to lean over and just…. At some point within the previous hour, she'd skidded over, and now no longer sat across from him, but next to him, both their legs stretched out in front of them, backs to the metal wall, voices more hushed. And if she just leaned a _little_ sideways, her head would fit very perfectly against his shoulder…

But as it were, the mambo her heart made every time she _looked_ at the guy, kept her wide awake. And that tingling feeling she felt in her belly, once she'd noticed for the first time how his eyes tried fruitlessly to refrain from glancing down at her hands, whenever she displayed that nervous tick she had which involved her playing with the little pearly buttons of her blouse.

"So…" she said, with a sideways glance up at him, totally changing the subject, "when _was_ the first time you noticed me?"

He started a little, as he looked down at her, and his hair fell into his eyes in that way that turned her knees to goo, and that angle _was_ mesmerizing, but… was he _blushing_?

His eyes flicked from her to the wall in front of them with rapid speed, as he flushed, and stammered a little.

"… you, uh… it was at the Crown. _Years_ ago. I was in High School. You almost trashed the place, loud and shrill, kicking that random game machine, because you also wanted a prize, when your friend got one."

Usagi blinked. Yeah, that sounded like her. Except that she'd never… Except that one time when… She blushed, put a hand to her face and cleared her throat.

Right. She still had that pen. It was a bit in-your-face girly, but very pretty, even when it didn't write very well at all, and her strange cat had been strangely protective of it that one time she'd considered throwing it out.

He chuckled at her, the movement almost causing them to touch elbows, and she inhaled.

And then she caught him stifle a yawn, and her heart started hammering.

 _No_. She didn't want this to be over, yet. She wanted this to never end.

Her mind jumped. Looking for a way to keep him awake with her, when she blinked, and smiled, and pulled her phone back out. The battery was on the low side, but it would hold out. For a little while, at least.

She swiped her lock screen away, and tapped on it a little, before sending Mamoru a grin, and getting to her knees.

"Ready to hear some _actual_ happy music?" she said, grinning.

He blinked, and she put her phone next to his when the first song of her happiest, preppiest playlist started playing, and she held her hand out toward him. The song was J-Pop's bubbliest finest, and Mamoru's look couldn't have been more bewildered, as he stared at her outstretched hand.

"C'mon," she snickered, wiggling her hand at him, and started to shake her bum in time to quick, preppy beat of the music, because yes, _this_ was happy music.

He blinked at her, wide eyes falling rapidly to her hips and even quicker back up to her face, and she swayed them more, with a smirk, lifting her arms over her head.

The song – a fast-paced, exciting, boyband number that was _literally_ named 'Happy' – filled the tiny, capsule like room to his incredulous look, and she giggled out loud, dancing for real now, flipping her hair and all, but still that outstretched hand toward him.

"Party in an elevator," she winked. "C'mon, dance with me."

Still those wide eyes, that slow shake of his head, the look that screamed 'I'm not drunk enough for _that_ shit.'

She giggled. "What's the problem? Can't dance?"

He pursed his lips, his eyes once again flicked down and back up with considerable more color on his face. "I'll have you know I can dance spectacularly."

" _Riiight_ ," she laughed, her eyes still daring, her hand still outstretched.

"I can," he huffed, not moving a muscle to get up, while she lifted her shoulders to the rhythm and her hips from side to side with a laugh on her lips. "I did a class once. Teacher said I must have been a dancer in a past life."

"Uhuh," she giggled, and winked, wiggling her hand again. "Well, prove it."

He lifted an eyebrow, but the color on his face still gave him away.

" _Ballroom_ dance," he said, imploringly, like a lifeline. "We're in a tiny cubicle."

She rolled her eyes, jumped up and down a little to the beat, and then forward, into his personal space, and instead of waiting around, she grabbed for his hands, and he held them up defensively, but started chuckling, laughing.

"C'mon." Her giggle sounded infectious even to her _own_ ears. "I bet you can't even remember the last time you've danced for no reason."

He pursed his lips, and she hadn't expected it to happen anymore, but with one hand on his knee, he lifted himself up, and she whooped and jumped again, and he blushed even more. But he started to move.

And she shrieks and giggles and he _is_ good, even when ever so slightly stiff, but she grabs his hips and makes them roll and it makes him snort, but then he's got it, and _damn, how the fuck is that guy so sexy, and what kinda smirk is that and_ …

Only a little more, two songs, and he was laughing right along with her, even when shaking his head, and moving against her in that entirely distracting way that made her blush, too, and made his eyes turn a little darker. And that way his eyes suddenly shined, absolutely transfixed on her… did very funny things to her.

And when they both started jumping at the same time, the cubicle shook a little. Usagi shrieked immediately, and clawed her hands into his shirt, and he chuckled as she blushed furiously, but suddenly it became a more leisurely swaying… And he didn't stop, and he didn't remove his hands from around her waist where they'd flown to in her fright.

She swallowed.

"So," she said, a little amused, but with a voice strangely quiet for her, "you were a dancer in a past life?"

He blushed, again, and somehow, she knew the amount he'd blushed tonight was probably the same amount he's blushed in all his life.

He shrugged, the movement jostling her a bit... when did they start dancing so close?

"Maybe someone who had to dance a lot?" he asked with a wink, but it's self-conscious, and she blinked at him before it turned into a smile.

"Do you believe in that? Reincarnation?"

The blush spread, but he shrugged, again. His voice became a little pressed. "I don't know what I believe. I know we don't know …basically anything. Who am I to say there isn't such a thing?"

She just smiled, and relaxed, and felt him get calmer, their swaying a bit smoother, and yet again she was somehow pretty sure this was something he's never talked about with anybody, because he was taking longer to think between words and frowns, and has trouble finding the right ones.

"I sometimes feel... déjà vu. A lot _today_ , actually," he winked at her again, "but... I dreamed a lot of crazy things as a kid... sometimes I just seem to know things. That's not uncommon for me, I suffered from amnesia as a kid, but..."

Her eyes widened and snapped up to him, but he flinched apologetically, and just talked right over that particular piece of information, and she let him.

"I knew things sometimes that no normal 6 year old would have… so… who knows," he shrugged, self-consciously, "maybe I _was_ someone who had to dance a lot in a past life… among other things."

Silence settled over them, and she felt her heartbeat pick right back up, even when he started to – quite obviously – become uncomfortable again. "I know how it sounds –" he started, in that apologetic tone, again…

But she interrupted him, shaking her head. "I know what you mean, actually?" she said, eyes flicking back up to him. So close, like that…

She inhaled. "I had a lot of dreams all my life, too. Very specific, very crazy. And people would tell me that's normal… I mean, which girl doesn't dream of being a princess? They said? And I know, right? So cliché…"

She shook her head, laughing uncomfortably, and missed how he stopped swaying, just for a little, tiny moment.

"But... you know, I didn't? Actually?" Usagi continued. "Want to be a princess? Ever. It must be so lonely. Not deciding who to be with, what to become, all your life dictated for you... And then most the dreams were rather… unpleasant."

She flinched, and frowned, then sighed deeply. _Way to kill the mood, Usagi._

She lifted her eyes back up at him, and started a little at the intense way he was looking back down at her. "Sorry. That doesn't make sense at all."

He shrugged, with a smile. "Maybe it does."

The song had changed. Still upbeat, but this one was slightly slower, and her heart started beating wildly when he came close, so close, and threaded his fingers with hers . He didn't let it show that he must notice how much they trembled, when he brought their hands between them, and his other slipped about her waist, when he started swaying them to the new rhythm, coming from hollow, tinny speakers echoing off a tiny, tinny, hollow room.

And her eyes latched onto his, and she couldn't look away. She was blushing like crazy, but yeah, he wasn't the player she had thought him to be. He was perhaps that perfect gentleman that Minako always claimed didn't exist, and he didn't say a word, didn't make a move, didn't let on that he noticed how she was basically coming apart in his arms. Just swayed her to the music.

Her heart beat faster than the beat of the song they were dancing to.

And he may be a gentleman, but her thoughts directly jumped to the contents of her bag, and the condoms she always carried with her, ever since Minako gave her that giant, mortifying lecture on how a girl should always be prepared should she get a case of the lusties, and not leave it to the guy.

And how her whole body trembled from where his hand was so modestly resting around her waist, at the small of her back.

His voice sounded _so_ close, when he spoke, in that low, sexy purr of his.

"Well," he said, "this is turning out to be the most fun I might have ever had,"

She giggled. "Oh, in an elevator for sure."

"No," he said, his smile making way for a more intense look, "not in an elevator."

She felt that flush in her whole body.

She inhaled sharply, and it was a spur of the moment kinda thing, intoxicated by his proximity, when she stepped onto the very tips of her toes, closer, inhaling sharply.

His eyes found hers, a little wide, and she leaned in.

And then her battery died, and so did the song.

It made her look over only for a second, startled, back on the soles of her feet, but when she brought wide eyes back to him, he had loosened his hold on her, and let his hands slip from her.

Her heart skipped a beat.

 _Damn_.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed deeply, and she frowned at him, when he shot her that extremely sheepish, and extremely cute, apologetic flinch, but…

Something was different.

He opened his mouth to say something, but it wouldn't come out, and this time both hands flew into his hair, and Usagi frowned harder.

She was about to ask him what was wrong, when he took a step back towards her, and spoke so fast she could barely make out the words. As if he had to get them out fast or he wouldn't say them.

"Never have I ever met my parents."

Usagi froze, and so did he.

* * *

 _AN: Sooo… I seem to have a thing for making that guy dance. And I'm not sorry. XD_

 _I've written this chapter to a whole playlist of songs, and obviously go ahead imagine what you will, here, but the song I've especially mentioned was a fun J-Pop number called "HAPPY" by_ _三代目_ _J Soul Brothers from EXILE TRIBE._

 _Anyway, HAPPY NEW YEAR, everyone! And let me know what you think 3_


	6. Seventh Hour

_AN: So, one of the key ingredients in that set of studies – you know, that study this fic is modeled after, the 4 hours to fall in love one – is eye contact. The participants need to hold long, meaningful eye contact. So, see what I did with that, here._

 _(Also, this is the moment where I remind you that this fic is M rated. This chapter particularly is the reason for that. So, just skip that later part if that's not for you.)_

* * *

 **Seventh Hour**

* * *

It was almost mesmerizing to Usagi. Seeing him open up like that. For the past hour, the floodgates had opened, and he'd poured it all out.

The accident, his lack of memory about it or his parents, the orphanage. Had stumbled over words, as if he didn't have the vocabulary to talk about these things, and she'd realized, with a painful tug in her throat, that this was probably because he'd never talked about this before. Ever.

The loneliness.

She'd started a little, when she finally understood why he'd been so uncomfortable, hours ago, when she'd talked about her line of work and asked about his research. And later… the game, and after… It all hit terribly too close to home for him, and he was used to keeping it all locked up.

'Research is Me-Search?' he'd quoted with an apologetic shrug, and explained it all, talked about all the kids he treated while gathering his data, that went through what he went through, and what it did to him.

Though none of these kids he treated were unfortunate enough to also be orphans, at least. Still…

In fact, turns out, she'd shadowed at the place he grew up in, once. A small institution in Ikebukuro, just a stone throw away from her school. A house that cared for an average of 50 kids, with 8 members of staff. Fairly strict and impersonal, but the club activities were driven. She hadn't liked it. And he'd never seen any of them again since his sixteenth birthday.

He'd had to stop, for a little while, when it all got to be too much. When the words didn't come but the emotions did, and she could see the tears shining in his eyes that he didn't dare let fall, and he needed a few moments in silence, and she'd understood, and they'd just sat there.

It wasn't when he talked about his parents. He had no memory of them. It was when he'd talked about that feeling he had when he'd sat alone in the dark and known, that if something would happen to him now, nobody would truly miss him.

It was the saddest thing she'd ever heard. And she'd heard a lot.

It made her heart break in an endless shower of affection for this guy she'd, hours ago, deemed a playboy, and now finally saw for what he was. And god, did she want to touch him, hug him, kiss it better… She'd never wanted to do anything so much in her life. Never ached so much it almost hurt, she wanted to be the person who made this go away, _so much._

She wanted so desperately to take his hand and not let go for the rest of her life.

But… she couldn't.

It wasn't her place.

But what she could do was listen, and that she did.

She could listen, to every word and every gasp and every time his voice broke. Could touch his hand, when he allowed it. And she could see him. The way his eyes latched onto hers and wouldn't let go, and no matter what heartbreaking story came, she wouldn't deny him this, she wouldn't turn her eyes away.

Until finally it was all out, and he shook his head with that incredulous look, the one she knew well, the one that said 'Did I just say all this? Really?'

And she smiled, and the look smoothed over, and he leaned back against the wall and exhaled, long and slow, but stayed silent.

"Thank you," she whispered, with a small smile, and he blinked.

"What for?" he asked, bewildered. The kind of look that wanted to disagree that she had any thanking to do, and she interrupted him, before he could voice that.

"For trusting me. I feel honored," she said.

He blinked again, faster now, his smile disappearing, and she was beginning to fear she'd said something wrong, when he began to speak.

"I know you've never noticed me, but… I've noticed you,"

She smiled, a bit sheepishly.

"And by god, I envied you, sometimes."

Her head bopped up, both eyebrows raised. "You envy me?" she blubbered, incredulous.

His nose scrunched up adorably, and his lips pressed together. She recognized this look by now. He was contemplating whether or not to say something, to share something he normally wouldn't. Never had. She needed to suppress her smile, when once again, sharing won.

"You know… I …" he began with a flinch "…I wouldn't call it an ability, I'm not vain like that, but I seem to… know exactly what people are feeling, whenever they feel it. Like a sixth sense. I know it when they are afraid, when they are happy, when they… drown in compassion… or are …aroused…" he trailed off, his eyes finding hers…

And hers widened, quickly. She felt called out, but swallowed, blushing, when he continued.

He inclined his head, quickly, one eye closing in an apologetic gesture, but then continued, without falter. "…or surprised. It's as if I can feel it… and yet, I lack the ability to connect. It's all there, but I just can't…" He swallowed.

"But you?" He raised his eyes to hers. "You connect so easily. With anyone. You draw them out. People flock to you, wherever you are. When you enter a room… it's like… it's like the light goes on."

She blushed. His eyes widened and he swallowed again.

"I'm sorry, I sound like a creepy stalker, don't I?" he rushed. "Sorry... I promise I haven't … I just … noticed you…" he swallowed, he again, "…a lot… is all."

Usagi shook her head, with a smile. Trying for reassurance, and it seemed to work.

She cocked her head sideways, watching him curiously. "Why haven't you ever said hi?"

He sighed. Frowned. Sighed again, eyes lifting up to hers and falling again, repeat.

"… I tried to… multiple times. And then I just…" He shrugged. That apologetic smile, again. "As I said. I'm not good at the connection part."

Usagi smiled. "You're doing a very good job now."

He snorted. "Yeah, I don't know why." Then he winked, and Usagi flushed all over. "Must be the company."

She was very aware of her blush, now. She blinked, and cleared her throat. Her voice was a little higher when she spoke.

"So, you envy me?"

It was meant as a lighthearted joke. Incredulous. Calling him out on the absurdity, but…

He pursed his lips, shrugged in that apologetic way. "Not only you, really," he said.

He didn't need a moment to decide whether or not to share, this time. It just came out.

"I was always so jealous. Of everyone who had mothers and unconditional love and connections. And then I told myself it was ok... and later, when I'd managed to _tell myself_ it was ok… I was so jealous. Of people like …Motoki," he said, eyes lingering on hers, and she was _very_ aware of the fact that he'd likened her to Motoki before, just a few hours ago, when he continued, "who were so open, wearing their hearts on their sleeves, being liked… and then of people who had people like Motoki… who had people like… him… who were so open in showering the people they loved with that feeling of being welcome."

He inhaled. "I was…" then swallowed. "You wanted to know the first time I noticed you?"

She nodded. Too quickly, too wide eyed, too enthusiastically.

"So. Umm… this was years ago, yeah?" he said, with a frown. "Don't think it…" he broke up, rolled his eyes, at himself, or so it seemed, and instead, began again.

"Well…" his adam's appled bopped. "…Your friend? The blue-haired one?"

Usagi blinked, taken aback. "Ami?"

He nodded. "Yes, Ami. I've met _her_ before, way back before I first saw you, at a science fair. We were the oddballs among oddballs. We didn't talk much, very little, in fact, but I felt we were… kindred spirits?" he said, and she nodded, even though she couldn't fight the little, jealous flutter she felt, when she was afraid where this story might be going, but only for a moment.

"She felt as lonely as I did. She barely smiled, never laughed, always afraid to speak her mind, even when she must have been the most brilliant head at the whole event, even at so young an age. Like… she was buried in a little turtle shell, the same I felt I'd built around myself, afraid to come out. And then… " he stopped, shrugging, shooting her that smile again that did funny things to her.

"It's true," he said with that apologetic shrug he'd done so much, by now, "the first time I'd noticed you was when you kicked that game machine for that gift, almost wracked the place, but… it was the same day that you made that girl who was so much like me laugh, and called her -chan, and gave her a hug, and it's like you took a chisel and hacked away that shell. I didn't think it then, I was too far buried, but... remembering that later, and now, too… I so desperately wanted to be her."

He'd whispered the last time, and it was Usagi's turn to swallow.

"I'd so desperately wanted you to see me, too."

It was more than audible, when he swallowed, as well, and his eyes flew to hers, apologetic and alarmed. Usagi's heart had started hammering.

"I promise I didn't follow you or anything. Never…"

He blinked, so clearly embarrassed, but obviously felt the need to explain.

"I used to have this imaginary friend," he said. "A bit like your princess dream, I guess. Just that I wasn't royalty, I just had… a princess. She never had a face, not really just, a silhouette… a… presence?" He shook his head, sighing. "Today I guess I made her up, so that I wouldn't be so lonely all the time, the thought that someone was out there waiting for me to find them…? It was comforting. I had them on and off for... most my life, I guess, made me do some silly things, too, until…" he trailed off, as if he'd changed his mind, and it was Usagi's turn to blink.

She shot upwards. "Until?" she prompted, a little too quickly, afraid he wouldn't tell her anymore.

He took a while to answer. Looked at her, hard, making up his mind, until he spoke.

"Until that day. The one that I first saw you. They stopped. And it terrified me."

Her heart beat faster.

"Why did it terrify you?" she whispered. Her heart was on her sleeve, she knew it, but…

He swallowed. "Because it felt like I had found what I'd been looking for, but I was too chicken to… even talk to you. God this sounds so weird. I'm sorry. I didn't even know you. I promise, I never followed you or anything… you were just… there. At the right time, and I got over you _very_ quickly I _promise_ …"

She frowned. Her heart clenched painfully. "You did?"

He cleared his throat, looked embarrassed. And she felt sorry to put him in this position, make him put her in her place, she guessed, but…

She shrunk a little, when his hand flew to the back of his neck again, his eyes found the ceiling, and he spoke.

"I'm lonely. Have always been, I know that, and… you're a… lovely person. I guess that day you were a… symbol, to me. Of connection and friendship? That it exists in the world and I didn't need to make up friends, instead? I was a shy lonely boy who was too chicken to befriend you… is all. I'd have loved… a… friend like you," he said, very awkwardly, not directly looking at her.

She nodded, heart falling.

Well, she could be his friend, she guessed. She could try. Friends were allowed to… fall in love with their friends, right? If she didn't tell him?

She saw the insecurity in his eyes, when they landed on her, again, and she cleared her throat. This wasn't about her.

"So… what is it that she meant to you? What were you searching for?" His princess, she meant, of course, but he seemed to understand.

His answering shrug felt a little uncomfortable."Intimacy," he said. "I guess that's what it all boils down to?"

She blinked.

"I don't mean sex," he said quickly, with a blush.

She shrugged. "Sex is very intimate. If it's the right kind?"

He swallowed. Looked at her, eyes straying, even when he tried not to, and inhaled sharply. She noticed with a stab that went right into her belly, and lower...

"I guess I haven't had that kind," he whispered. Then he shook his head, sharply. "But…"

He swallowed, again. He had trouble finding words. "I think... Really, I wanna be … I don't know. Recognized?"

She inched forward, just a little, just a little closer. "You want someone to see you."

He shrugged. "That's not bad is it? Only for a little while? To feel … To be felt? Accepted? Wanted? For just a moment?" His eyes lifted to the ceiling, and he inhaled, his frown almost panicked. "And... I wanna see and feel in return. That's what I want most in life. And I'm terrified of it. I'm terrified I'll never get it. I'm terrified I'll push it away. I'm terrified I'm not capable of giving it because I never learned it, I never felt it…" he trailed off, and his eyes swam with worry, when they found her again, and still…

There was this need in them. Yearning. For _someone_ …

Maybe, just for tonight, she could be that someone for him. Be his princess. Maybe she could be his symbol, again.

And maybe her heart could take that, too, if he didn't want more than that, afterwards.

She scooted over, a little clumsily, and knelt beside him, facing him, awkwardly.

"I'm sorry I haven't seen you before today…" she said, voice breaking and unsure. "But I do now…"

With a shiver, she raised her hand, and ever so tentatively, she touched his face. Her fingers stroking along his cheek, cupping the side of his face. His skin was soft, and warm, and his eyes were wide… so, so wide. She froze like that, for a little moment. Thought she'd scared him, when slowly, oh so slowly, his own hand reached up, and cupped her own.

"I'm here, now," she whispered.

Her heart thumped so loudly she felt like it must be visible under her skin, as if it had to leave an indent in her chest from the way it hammered against her ribcage, as she held her breath and in one, swift movement not only invaded his personal space, but she moved even closer.

Way closer.

His eyes grew wide, and his mouth opened in a sudden, hectic intake of breath.

She straddled his legs, settling on his thighs with the certain kind of bravery she knew was sometimes stupid, and maybe even now, but… She did it anyway.

His breathing sped up, the movement of his quickly rising chest brushing against her; she was so close now, his eyes – _so blue_ – were so very wide, as he stared at her. They were on eye level, now.

She was so close, she would have been able to count every single, individual one of his way too pretty, way too thick eyelashes, saw his eyes jump back and forth between hers, because he couldn't take them in at once anymore, and their harsh breathing mingled between them, touching, mixing, where their mouths weren't…

She saw it, the flicker of his eyes to her lips, but he didn't move, and he didn't talk, only stared at her, so very wide-eyed.

 _Too forward? Too weird_? She retracted her hand from his face, then, and her mind screamed at her, alarmed, as she felt him, so tense and rigid underneath her thighs, every muscle in his legs and chest clenched.

She moved closer, even closer, brought her lips to the shell of his ear, and she felt him shudder when her lips brushed against it as she started speaking.

"Is this ok?" she whispered.

His hands flew to her thighs then, just below the hem of her skirt, digging, kneading into the flesh of her legs, and it was her turn to shudder, when he nodded, mutely, the movement miniscule, his breath coming out hard and labored.

Still so very, very tense.

She leaned back, shifting her weight on his legs and he almost moved with her, stiffly, rigid, and hissed air through his teeth when she lifted her hands and brought trembling fingers to the buttons of her blouse.

His eyes were glued to her hands as she worked the buttons slowly, and his mouth opened in a small, audible whimper, when the top of her bra became visible. Simple, shiny, soft, pale pink fabric, nothing special, yet his eyes drank her up as if she were a goddess.

It made her bolder.

She stopped the movement of her hands, her bra barely visible, yet, and instead she shifted again. Closer this time. Could feel her crotch align with his, her heart pounding so hard and fast she could hear it ringing in her ears and teeth, shaking her. _Thump-thump, thump-thump_.

Her mouth opened involuntarily, and her breathing picked up, faster. She really hadn't even barely touched him yet, and still, she could already feel the tell-tale tug between her legs, the twitching feeling between lips that weren't her mouth, as she reached up fingers that still trembled like a traitor and touched the pads of her fingers to lightly brush his lips.

They were soft.

And they trembled, too.

She raised her eyes from his lips and met his... Dark, so very dark, the look in them so intense. The way they looked at her so wide and blue and like… she didn't really know. She'd never seen eyes watching her so intense, before. So awake, so… _there_. So _here_.

It was almost too much, a little, and she broke his gaze to do what she had wanted from that first moment she had laid eyes on him that day.

She touched his hair. Find out if it was as soft and silky to the touch as it looked.

It really wasn't much of a surprise that yes, indeed, it was. Thick, glossy silk that ran like a caress along the pads of her fingers, as she brushed her hands along his forehead, her fingers slipping against his scalp, when she drew the hair back from his face and pushed her hands through the softest hair she'd ever felt sliding against her skin.

Her gaze fell back on his, his head tilted backward slightly from the pressure of her hands that were buried in the dark ink of his hair in a tight grip, and she exhaled.

His eyes were about a shade darker than just a moment before. Wide and open and glued just to her.

She couldn't help it, the slow grind against him. The satisfaction she felt, when his face twisted, as she moved against the hard bulge that had long formed beneath her.

So, it wasn't really surprising when his lips finally found hers, catching them between his, as he leaned his face closer towards her, her hands still buried deep in his hair. But oh, did the feeling travel straight down.

It was a slow kiss, deliberate, searing. He moaned into it as her lips molded themselves against his, his hands pushing further into the skin of her thighs with every brush and nip. And when she caught his lips between her teeth and he gasped and made a sound almost as if he was in pain, a whimper so needy, she felt so empowered that all propriety and slow-burning flew out the window, and she pushed his face closer to her by the hair and her tongue into his mouth.

She felt like drowning by the time she came up for air, breathing hard, and she looked back up, and his eyes were still on hers. Still and dark and oh…

She bit her lip, his breath tingling on it, as he breathed harshly, but kept still, and with slow movements, reaching down, she hiked her skirt up. And this time it was only the thin, thin cotton barrier of her panties that brushed against the very hard, very obvious front of his pants, and he cried out, just when she bit her lip harder against the rush of intense warmth that fluttered, twitching in her core.

She found his eyes again, those intense, dark, almost fearful eyes, and let her hand travel down his arm until they brushed down his hands. They curled against her as if on reflex, stroking against her so softly, his fingers threading through her own, as if they were made to do so, and she felt it impacted in her core like a jackhammer of desire.

Not moving her eyes from his, she pulled on their laced hands, bringing them between them, and his eyelid twitched, and his breathing turned harsh, but he kept her gaze, when she brushed his hand against the damp front of her cotton panties.

Though she couldn't help the cried out little gasp of air at the feeling.

He didn't move, not at first, until her eyes were back on him, and he must have seen something in them, because suddenly his mouth snapped shut and his eyes grew even more intense still, and his fingers came alive against her, as he cupped her first, and then drew one long digit up and down against the slick, wet fabric.

She tried. She tried to keep her face neutral, but the whimpers just came and with a low, absolutely involuntarily sexy growl that escaped him when she started grinding against him, he pushed the fabric aside with his knuckles, never once looking down, his eyes never straying from her face, and his fingers slipped against naked, slick, swollen skin, instead.

This time she groaned, loud and guttural, anything but chaste or ladylike, and her hands flew to his arms to keep steady when his thumb slipped against her clit and his fingers swirled and dipped and pushed just ever so slightly into her and _god_ , his eyes…

She breathed harshly, hanging on for the ride and followed his example – she looked into his eyes, tried her hardest not to roll them back into her head, as she mewled and bit her lips around the feeling between her legs, mounting higher and higher with every brush of his thumb and swirl of his fingers. Her hips moved against his hand almost against her own will, _too much… too much_.

She lifted her hips, kneeling, and her eyes left his for just a moment in doing so. She didn't want to come, not yet, and moving up, she felt his fingers pull from her, slipping noisily from her wet folds as he looked up, startled, finding her eyes once more.

His eyes. So wide. So hooded. So unsure. So very, very intense and wanting. They were the sexiest thing on him.

She didn't look away from his eyes this time, when she lifted herself up only a little more, and he whimpered at the loss of contact, his hips raising a bit from the cold linoleum floor as if to follow her.

And then he cried out when both her hands were on his crotch, but his eyes were on hers, nearly bugging out, as she fumbled to his mewls and whimpers, trying to pull the zipper down without looking.

He groaned low and loud and guttural when she missed again, and his hands joined hers and within a second the zipper was down and her hands were in his pants and his eyes were glassy and wide and his mouth open in a silent scream, and he had trouble not to scrunch his eyes shut as she pulled it out and hovered over him… but he kept them open, looking back at her as she swirled his cock across her wet lips, slick and noisy.

Back and forth, back and forth, smacking wetly, and this time she couldn't help it, her eyes rolled back.

She stilled, and this time he cried out, too, when she leaned back so far he didn't touch her any longer, but she had to…

The entire contents of her bag spilled out when she pulled at it, but she didn't care, there was just the one she needed.

He nearly ripped it from her hands, when she found it, tore it open with shaky fingers and rolled it down his shaft.

She hovered just above him. Tilted her head, and her breathing was so shallow and fast that her breasts were heaving, and he had trouble keeping his eyes on hers. They kept flicking down, and he groaned again and looked so tortured almost, and she felt his hands returning, higher now, flexing, fists digging into her thighs almost painfully, as he bit his lip and whimpered when she stroked his cock between her legs again.

She brought her face closer. Eyes still locked on his, but she now so close she could taste and feel his breath on her lips, and closer, until her lips touched his. The barest brush.

"Ok?" she asked, and as she whispered, only mouthed the words ,the movement stirred at his lips and they trembled, when he groaned. And even as he nodded, his hands moved up, underneath her skirt and panties, and he clawed his hands into the flesh of her butt. But this time it wasn't the kind of touch that felt like he was trying to control himself to keep still, this time it was to push her down on him.

She cried out, her head flinging back and her eyes leaving his momentarily, as he latched his mouth against her throat and sucked even as she could feel him twitch deep inside her, could feel him bite and hold his breath, as he held her flush against him, steady, steady even as she tried to move.

"Just a second," he pressed out, "I need... just..." he trailed off, panting, keeping her still, mouth against her throat but twisted, hard. Groaning. Trembling, his breath coming harshly, as he tried to lengthen it, breathing out through his mouth and in through his nose exaggeratedly.

When his head fell back against the elevator wall with a thud, and his eyes flew open to focus on hers once more, his eyes were glassy, teary, almost frightened they were so wide, his teeth clenched and lips pulled wide air hissing through.

"You ok?" she whispered.

He nodded. Quickly, hard, fast.

"Uh huh," he pressed out, flinching, as she moved slightly. "Just... just go slow or I –" he groaned harshly, as she lifted herself up slowly, the muscles in her thighs contracting and his hands flying to dig into them "or I –"

He groaned pitifully, when she sank back down, not nearly as slowly as she'd intended to, and he apparently lost all ability to speak, as she brought her hands to face, her hands slipping behind his neck, forcing his eyes back on her, and he even managed to keep them open and on her for a little while longer, as she plunged herself down again and again in a rhythm that had his face twist up in ways that excited her more than anything had before in her life.

He had to stop her, occasionally. Slipping out and breath in, breath out, before he let her pick up her pace, and at one point the back of his head hit the wall of the elevator behind him, harder this time, and he scrunched his eyes shut, and they stayed shut as his legs tensed up, and she knew he couldn't hold out much longer. So she flicked her hand down to where they were moving together, and slipped her finger against her clit in the way he wouldn't know how to, yet, and her breath gave out, and the back of her eyelids exploded in white light as she stilled, and his hips started moving in her stead, letting her ride it all out as she came around him.

Two, three, four more strokes and he, too, allowed himself to come undone, and came. Not in the silent way that she had, but with a cry that made his voice break, and his hands flew around her middle, hugging her tightly, flush against him, her head falling into the crook of his neck, and his lips against the thin, sensitive skin of her throat as they moved softly, in unison, as their breathing calmed down, and she started to feel the stretch of her bent legs and the sweat that had pooled in the small of her back, and the sound of his breath against her ear.

"I thought you had no interest in one night stands?" she whispered a little later, against the fabric of his collar.

His hands tightened around her middle, and he hugged her even closer, still sheathed inside her, his head burying further into her neck.

"I don't," he whispered, his voice strong and vehement, and he pressed long, wet kisses to that spot right behind her ear.

And her heart rate picked right back up.

Even if he didn't mean what she hoped he meant, there were still two more condoms somewhere in the contents of that handbag, and maybe there was still a chance of shedding at least one item of clothing between them, until it was morning.

* * *

 _AN: Sooo… First and foremost, thank you to UglyGreenJacket, for not only being crazy encouraging of my smutty adventures, but also so very thrilled about it, every time, and cheering me on like you do 3_

 _And,_

 _you guys know me by now. How important I find it is to portray that one dimension of sexuality that most depictions of sex usually miss, but that, to me, and to sexual psychology and sciences and medicine, is the most important bit about it: Sex is a unique and outstanding resource for emotional connection. For sharing each other, accepting each other, worshipping each other. Connecting, body and soul, and not only accepting every flaw and every edge and every curve and every mark, but celebrating it in a way, by giving it your all. Getting naked, both physically and emotionally. And that is what I wanted to show, here, in this chapter. Connection. Trust. Vulnerability. Sensuality._

 _So yes, Mamoru didn't lose a bit of clothing. But he got naked to the bone._

 _And I do hope you enjoyed it ;)_


	7. Ninth Hour

_AN: Guys, I was so absolutely thrilled about every single one of your reviews and comments. Wow! Seriously! I'm absolutely blown away and so very floored that you enjoyed that last chapter the way you did!_

 _And now, while the following is a very different kind of emotive than the last, it's very much still M._

* * *

 **Ninth Hour**

* * *

So, while their clothes had been long lost in the past two hours, one by one, as he'd started peeling them from her in the most intoxicating ways, only to replace them with his lips and hands and teeth, and they'd gasped and come and come again, like it was only ever possible when you're drunk on adrenaline and hormones and _firsts_ …

Their conversation hadn't exactly stopped for that.

"I'm surprised you still wanted to…" he'd breathed down her neck, as they'd just come down from a high but hissed the air through her teeth, when he again found that spot at the juncture of her shoulder, and dipped his tongue into her collar bone.

Her mind was fuzzy, and she was utterly confused for a moment. "What? Why?" she gasped, pushing back against him and he groaned. And completely ignored the implication of the phrasing 'Still want to', alluding to the fact that he'd most likely been well aware of her hots for him that whole time, and hadn't done fucking anything about it until she made the first step – meaning they could have been doing this for way longer.

"Well, because…. Hahhh."And this time he'd been the one to roll his eyes back in his head, and lose his voice for just a moment, when her hand reached down between them and stroked skin that was firm and hard and slick from use.

"Because…" he tried again, his voice a little too high, too pressed. "Tears aren't particularly sexy."

She'd stopped her movement to throw him a look, and he'd cried out in protest, even when she shook her head slowly, like he was being densest of all. "Oh, you silly man…"

And with a yank at the back of his neck, she'd pressed his lips back against hers, and arched into him, but not too much, because they only had two condoms left and needed to make this last, her legs curling around him as if they belonged, and her hand picked up where it left off and this time it wasn't his tongue at her collar bone, but his teeth.

Or much later, when she was coming, crying, and he whispered in her ear, hoarsely, harshly, out of breath,

"So, is this better than your half-a-one-night-stand?"

He flicked his fingers inside her, and she gasped.

"It counted," she ground out, defiantly.

"How long were you… with that guy… afterwards?" He murmured against her skin, broken up when his tongue dipped into her navel and his fingers curled and she cried out.

"About… a… year… almost," she moaned. Speaking was the most difficult task in the world, how had she never known that?

He chuckled."That wasn't a one night stand, love. That was sex on the first date."

"But it wasn't meant … uh… uugggn," she broke off, with a guttural groan, when he entered her in one stroke, and his face was in front of her again, the ends of his hair tickling her forehead and cheeks, and those midnight blue eyes drank her in as she trembled, and he started moving.

"Doesn't count," he said, again, and she could only nod anymore.

Or even later still, when that soft mob of inky satin hair was between her legs, and his hands dug into her thighs to keep her from writhing too hard, and her toes curled, and her head fell back against the cold elevator wall with a painful thud, because his teeth and tongue had found a rhythm that made her chant his name and wail and cry, as he made her recite the names and traits and habits of all the people whom she'd ever been with, and every love she'd known in life, and every deep connection she'd ever had that he envied her for so, and what they'd meant to her.

And although her mind was a tumbled mess and she couldn't think, she howled it all out, because he'd flick his tongue into her every time she gave a detail, but would stop every time she didn't talk, and so she garbled on like a screaming, crying person on confession, not making a lot of sense in this most exquisite of tortures, but it was the most intense orgasm she'd ever had.

Or now, when she lay sprawled against him, head pillowed by his chest, and they both heaved in the aftermath and it felt like a soft, safe, wanted cocoon, and he whispered things into her ear that made her giggle, and other things that worried him… more things she knew he'd never told a soul, and it made her heart ache and swell at the same time.

And things that made her fear tomorrow, because she never wanted this to end, but she felt it, the fatigue in her bones, the burning behind her eyes that even hormones and adrenaline couldn't keep back.

And she panicked, and even if her own eyes were burning, she grabbed at his arm, and flew startled eyes at him, because he'd yawned, again, and she asked him to tell her everything, anything.

"Little things. About you," she said, a little breathless.

He smiled at her, then looked back at the dark, shadowy ceiling, with his arm under his head, thinking.

"I like to keep my place clean. I have a green thumb," he said, with a flinch, and an apologetic smile, as if to say, 'there's not much more to me, really, what can I say?' and she lifted herself up on her elbows, still cuddled to his side, to get a better look at him.

He shrugged, a little lost. "I can cook?"

"Mmmmhhh," she purred, eyes wide and exited. "Tell me _more_."

He chuckled, eyes glinting, as he lifted that one, very enticing eyebrow at her, and with a jolt, he moved, rolling her, turning her over so he was back on top of her, smirking, and she shivered.

His voice was back to that husky lull, when he brought his face as close to hers as he could without touching it with his.

"I played the Prince in a Snow White play once. Voluntarily," he whispered, smirking.

She giggled. "More, more!"

He chuckled again, voice rumbling in that delicious, sexy way, and he brought his lips to her ear, as he hovered above her. "I share my umbrella with old ladies. I visit an abandoned house from time to time just to feed the stray cats there," he whispered, voice seductive and so, so amused. "I own a tux and look fabulous in it."

She shuddered, even as she laughed, and grabbed at his arms and hips, digging her fingers into the hard planes of soft skin. " _More_ ," she breathed.

And his lips traveled, kissed behind her ear, her throat, when he continued, whispering. "I write Haiku for fun."

And she moaned, when his tongue dipped into the shell of her ear.

It was later, when her head was back on his chest, and his arm was tightly wrapped around her shoulders, that he said something that made her fear the morning again, which came faster than she'd ever wanted in her life, and was already long here, she guessed.

"I was asked a while ago, at a party – well more of a celebration, really, my study group –" he whispered, when she'd almost fallen asleep, and broke off and shook his head, "unimportant. Anyway, I was asked when I had a last 'first'. You know, first anything."

She smiled.

"I had no answer, then. But…" he trailed off.

"I had a damn lot of firsts tonight," he said.

She swallowed. "'Firsts are best because they are beginnings,'" she quoted in a whisper, cheek against his chest, without the accompanying blush she would usually sport when quoting Young Adult romance novels, but she felt he knew her now, and she didn't need to worry anymore.

He inhaled deeply, and when she craned her neck a little to look at his face, he gave her a look that suddenly looked vulnerable, again, and she leaned up to look him in the eye.

"I had a lot of firsts, too, tonight," she whispered.

He smiled, and then it turned into a smirk. The one that made her shiver, as he dove upward, once more, and found her lips again, and she fell back against the wall with a thud and a sigh.

And god, it felt good, so good, his lips, tiny sweet kisses, at her temple, her nose, her forehead, and she closed her eyes and dug her hands into his upper arms as he continued the soft caresses, with a murmured name that wasn't quite hers, but should be.

" _Usako_ ," he whispered. Lips warm and soft and clenching her heart because she wanted to keep this. She wanted to keep him.

But sleep called to her, wanting to drag her away, and for the first time she was not mad at what kept her awake but what caused her to fall, but then she found his hands, warm and strong, moving her, and her throat constricted, when she realized what he was doing.

He had started to dress her.

Slipped that soft, too old, stretchy, pale pink, cotton bra back over her arms, embraced her as if in a hug to fasten it around her, and she let her head fall into the crook of his neck and breathed in his scent and let her eyes drift shut.

* * *

 _AN: As always, my eternal thanks to UglyGreenJacket for beta'ing my speed writing without batting an eyelash!_

 _It's basically tradition by now that next to last chapters are the hardest to write for me, and it's, of course, been the same again here, for me. Sooo… I do hope you like it, and the last chapter is coming very soon, as well!_

 _Please let me know what you think!_


	8. Eleventh Hour

_AN: Last chapter! I've warned you from the beginning - the moment those doors open again, we're done. And here we are. I hope you like!_

 _Thank you to my beta, who was so very encouraging of my idea to lock them up with just themselves and their dialogue all throughout this little experiment 3._

* * *

 **Eleventh Hour**

* * *

Usagi awoke with a start, and was completely disoriented for a second.

And then she remembered whose arms that were around her, and who that was pressed against her, spooning her. But then he almost jumped away from her.

She'd woken up when the elevator doors opened with a ding. And although objectively quiet, that slide of doors and little jingling sound, it was loud to her ears, and the elevator was flooded with uncomfortable light.

She lifted her arms up over her face in reflex with a loud groan, squinting against the light that still shone through.

Mamoru started talking. Explaining. Hushed and quickly.

Must be Murata-san, then. Must be morning.

Oh god, no. It was too soon. She hadn't… they hadn't…

It all happened very quickly. She'd just blinked out of her stupor, lifting herself off the floor by her elbows, when Mamoru was already diving for the used condoms lying on the floor with a giant blush, in between all the junk and rubbish and paper wrappers that had all exited her bag at one time, and she flushed as well.

And she realized his shirt was buttoned the wrong way, and her skirt was inside out. The way her hair tumbled about her in strands, the buns in her hair had seen better days, as well.

She didn't react for a moment, watched him wide-eyed as he started piling things in her bag, apologizing to Murata-san for the mess, who apologized right back for the imprisonment, and it turned into a giant, ridiculous back and forth dance of flushed bows and reassurances.

They hadn't talked about what would happen after this, yet.

Suddenly, Usagi was very, very scared.

What if he didn't want to see her …

And then Murata-san was saying something. All bows and grey hair and navy pants, pointing at the console, that Usagi had trouble registering, but then she did, and Mamoru, who tried to get him to change the topic.

Her eyes flew to the console. It _had_ an emergency button. The sign above the console read, in bold characters, 'IN CASE OF EMERGENCY', with easy instructions, in several languages. A numeric code, then a specific button to press for 30 seconds to get the emergency power on. Then a similar series of buttons, to be directed straight to the police.

Usagi frowned. Remembering Mamoru, shining his phone against the console, pressing buttons, right in the beginning, then leaving them be…

He _must_ have read it, he _must_ have…

So why didn't he?

She exhaled slowly, and shook out of it. With trembling fingers, she started picking snacks and cords and pens and lip balm and her hand mirror and… all the things her bag had vomited from the floor.

Mamoru was beet red to the roots of his hair, and he didn't look her in the eye, but helped her picking up all the strewn things and put them in her bag, and it was awkward in the way he shrunk back every time their hands brushed accidentally, as they rushed the task.

The last thing he handed her back was her power bank. Empty now, and so was his phone.

Did he regret this, in the light of day?

They were walked out of the cubicle, Murata-san apologized profusely, and Mamoru seemed to have trouble reassuring him while awkwardly keeping up the pretense that there had been no way out of there, both of them blushing red hot.

And so was Murata-san. Mamoru hadn't been that quick in grabbing those condoms and stuffing them, soggy, milky and all, into the pockets of his jeans.

They had to sign some papers. For insurance, and that they were alright, and leave their contact addresses just in case. They went through the motions, and it took a while.

By the time they were almost done, a few students entered with their chip cards, and Mamoru stiffened up when they greeted him, and he stepped away from her, several paces.

It was then that he noticed his shirt was buttoned wrong, and turned awkwardly to the counter, shooting a glance she was sure he thought was inconspicuous and quick toward her own wayward clothing.

Her heart fell. He was clearly embarrassed. Ashamed of the whole thing.

He didn't look her in the eye. Only this awkward glance at her inside out-skirt, her messy hair.

He was regretting this all. She didn't live up to the magic, in the light of day.

It was like a pit that opened up in her stomach, and lodged itself in her throat, and she cursed herself for the tears that sprang to her eyes and she could just, just barely hold back.

The alarmed, if quick look that he threw her didn't help.

She glanced sideways, and saw an out. The restrooms, just to the side of the stair cases. She excused herself with a mumble, quickly, and didn't wait out his reply, as he bodily turned to her, instead she lurched forward, disappearing quickly behind safe, dark doors.

She locked herself in the first cubicle, placed her hands palms up on the heavy, fancy mahogany door. Everything was fancy about this place… Unlike her.

She inhaled deeply, but there was no way she would win this fight.

The tears fell freely, and soon turned into sobs.

He didn't want her.

It took a while until she'd calmed down. She rummaged for her phone, attempting to call Mina. Minako would know what to do… before she remembered that her battery had run out.

She sighed, deeply, and lowered herself onto the closed toilet and lower, her hands into her tangled hair, and her head between her legs.

She breathed in and out. In and out, calming breaths.

He didn't want her.

But she could do this. She wasn't 14. She wasn't _that_ big of a crybaby, anymore. She could do this, she could. Just a little… Just a little longer.

When she exited the restrooms, a little later, her hair was fixed, her face cleaned, her skirt right side out, and her chin high. Mamoru was leaning against the entrance, wringing his hands, Murata-san gone.

His eyes were bloodshot and tired, and so startled and alarmed, when they found hers.

Remorseful.

She swallowed, and took the few remaining steps toward him.

He straightened up awkwardly. Just stood there, before opening his mouth, and closing it again.

Instead, he sighed, and opened the tall, heavy door for her.

She nodded, and with a few steps, she was back in Tokyo. At least that's what it felt like. The rustle of people walking about, the ring of a bicycle bell, kids laughing, the low murmur of people talking side by side on the sidewalk, Tokyo Tower in the distance.

She braced herself, and turned to him.

He didn't look her in the eye.

Guess it was up to her.

"I guess this is goodbye," she said.

His eyes flew to hers. Alarmed, again, but he didn't say anything.

She felt sick to her stomach. It was hard to form words.

But she did.

"Thank you, uh… thank you for…" she frowned, started again, it was so _lame_ … "…the, uh… company."

And then she stuck out her hand. She didn't know why.

He stared at it. Didn't take it, at first.

He looked almost sick, as well.

Did he regret it _so much_?

But then he took it, awkwardly, and shook it. Started to say something, but then shook his head, and stopped.

"You, too," he said instead, eyes at the ground.

She swallowed. Nodded.

He didn't ask to see her again. He didn't ask for a phone number. Nothing.

She inhaled. It hurt a bit to breathe.

"Right…" She turned on her heel, before giving the most awkward wave she'd ever given anyone.

He didn't follow her.

She'd walked two blocks in the opposite direction, when her breathing sped up and the lump in her throat became so painful she couldn't bear it, and she asked herself in a panic… _What the fuck am I doing? Why am I letting this happen?_

And she broke into a run, as fast as she could, back whence she came, passing Mita's many restaurants and Izakayas, weaving ungracefully past people in her wake.

 _Please still be there, please still be there._

She nearly choked when she glimpsed his head in the crowd, once she turned the corner that would lead her back to Keio's campus.

He was running toward her just the same, stopping when he saw her. Out of breath.

She slowed down, panting harshly, and walked the last few steps, and this time, his eyes were on her. Almost frantic.

His eyes were wide, again. So, so wide. "I lied," he said, breathlessly. "Before. I lied. I never wanted to be your friend. And I don't want to be your friend... now."

She frowned.

He groaned, rolling his eyes heavenward, even as he said that part. She saw him struggle. "I'm sorry, I… I told you. I'm so bad at the… connecting part, but I…"

And then, suddenly, she wanted to smack herself. When she finally could look past her own self-consciousness, and could finally read his stance. What she'd read as remorse, and regret.

He was worried. He was panicked. Just like she was.

Her heart beat wildly.

He swallowed, tried again. "What… what are you… are you free for the rest of the morning?" he said, unsure.

Her heart almost beat out of her chest.

"Are you free for the rest of your life?" she asked, instead.

She held her breath, because he didn't move, didn't react…

…until he did.

It startled her, how fast he moved. How fast his arms were around her, his arms slipping around her frame as he crushed her to him, almost painfully. And something halfway between a giggle and a sob escaped her, when she hugged him back, and she felt her feet lift off the ground, as he hugged her so tightly, and she felt him shake and his breath tremble against her throat, as he held her.

"Yes. Yes, I am," he whispered, not loosening his hold on her one bit.

And so they just stood there, beneath that one solitary tree at the corner of the road by the entrance to the main campus of fancy Keio, with muttering people passing by them and her feet off the ground, in the tightest hug she'd ever known.

* * *

 _AN: So… The End!_

 _Thank you guys, each and every one of you who left a review on this, for cheering me on like you did! Makes me feel confident that you don't mind when I experiment around, and that you're here with me, even if I jump across genres and mess around with them. I appreciate hearing from you so much, you really don't know what it means to me!_

 _So, you'll be making my day if you let me know how you liked it – the end, and all in all – and also it's my birthday today and the best presents come in reviews ;)_

 _See you soon, hopefully 3_


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